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THE    ADVENTURES 
OF   JOHN    JOHNS 


By   FREDERIC  CARREL 


AN  EDUCATION. 

THE  CITY. 

THE   ADVENTURES   OF   JOHN  JOHNS. 

THE  PROGRESS  OF  PAULINE  KESSLER. 

THE  REALIZATION  OF  JUSTUS  MORAlC 

HOUSES  OF  lONORANCE. 

MARCUS  AND   FAUSTINA. 


THE  ADVENTURES 
OF  JOHN  JOHNS 


By 
FREDERIC   CARREL 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 


Conceiving  that  the  proper  function  of  a  novel  is  to  present 
a  phase  of  life  and  in  no  way  to  teach,  except  in  so  far  as 
such  a  presentment  teaches,  all  that  it  can  teach — life — I 
deem  that  the  statement  of  this  conception  is  sufficient  to 
explain  the  manner  of  this  story.  Nevertheless,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  are  liable  to  be  influenced  for  right  or 
wrong  by  the  perusal  of  fiction,  I  think  it  is  necessary  to  add 
that  none  of  the  characters  here  described  are  offered  for 
imitation.  They  are  but  imaginary  men  and  women  moving 
on  the  stage  of  life,  who  act  as  it  seemed  logical  they  should 
act,  considering  the  motives  by  which  they  are  seen  to  be 
guided  and  the  environment  in  which  they  are  placed. 


2134829 


THE  JDFENTUkBS 
OF  JOHN  JOHNS 


CHAPTER 
FIRST 

THE  train  from  Tilbury  steamed  into  Fenchurch  Street  ai 
four  o'clock,  and  John  Johns,  carrying  a  black  portman- 
teau, alighted  from  a  third-class  carriage.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  platform  of  the  dingy  terminus,  amid  the 
crowd  of  passengers  and  porters,  realizing  that  he  was  back 
again  in  London,  after  six  years'  absence  in  Australia.  Then, 
as  he  resented  being  elbowed,  he  crossed  over  to  the  cab-rank, 
opened  the  door  of  the  first  hansom  he  found  vacant,  and 
thrust  his  only  piece  of  luggage  into  it. 

Whither,  in  search  of  lodgings,  should  he  tell  the  man  to 
drive  ?  That  was  a  question  which  he  had  debated  on  the 
journey  up.  With  only  five  pounds  and  a  few  shillings  in  his 
pocket,  and  very  uncertain  prospects,  he  needed  a  cheap  neigh- 
bourhood. After  a  moment's  hesitation,  therefore,  he  decided 
to  try  Bloomsbury. 

As  the  cab  passed  through  the  City — still  full  of  life  and 
of  activity — the  spring  sun  was  shining  on  the  walls  of  its 
classic  buildings,  illumining  the  streets  and  the  faces  of  the 
passers  in  them.  Overhead,  the  pale  blue  sky  was  cloudless, 
and  the  outlines  of  the  houses  were  unusually  distinct. 
London  looked  bright  enough,  Johns  thought,  that  after- 
noon. 

Passing  slowly  through  Cheapside — congested  by  the  traffic 
— the  hansom  made  its  way  through  Newgate  Street  and  along 
Holborn.  As  it  passed  a  colossal  draper's  shop  a  few  yards 
from  the  "  Circus,"  a  girl  with  a  slight  figure  and  a  pretty  baby- 
face  was  leaving  it.  She  gave  a  sidelong  look  at  Johns,  and, 
when  he  smiled  engagingly,  she  returned  his  smile.  This  put 
him  into  a  good  temper,  and,  instinctively,  he  cast  a  glance  at 
his  attire,  which  consisted  of  a  well-worn,  lightish  overcoat,  of 


t  THE  ADVENTURES 

more  or  less  colonial  cut,  half  covering  a  brown  tweed  suit  of 
doubtful  quality.  Then  he  drew  his  soft  felt  hat  a  little  for- 
ward, adjusted  his  red  necktie,  and  looked  at  the  people  in  the 
streets  with  calm  assurance,  twirling  the  rather  long  and  dark 
moustache  which  relieved,  to  some  extent,  the  snubness  of 
his  nose  and  the  somewhat  excessive  breadth  of  a  face  lit 
up  by  a  pair  of  keen  black  eyes  of  extraordinary  expressive- 
ness and  penetration.  He  was  thinking  that  he  was  back 
again  in  England  furnished  with  a  stock  of  roughly-bought 
experience.  He  was  about  to  test  himself  in  earnest,  and  to 
find  out  whether  he  possessed  the  quality  which  carries  a 
man  along  to  fortune.  He  was  six-and-twenty,  and  he  cal- 
culated that  he  had  ample  time  before  him — the  great  thing 
was  to  make  a  lucky  start. 

What  had  he  not  been  in  Australia  ?  Tramp,  and  cow-boy, 
broker's  clerk,  evening  lecturer,  journalist,  and  schoolmaster.  He 
had  drifted,  as  most  men  do  who  go  out  "on  spec,"  from  one 
calling  to  another  in  search  of  the  main  chance,  which  he  had 
not  found.  Still  he  had  managed  to  enjoy  himself  sufficiently 
in  spite  of  his  vicissitudes,  and  of  his  amorous  adventures 
there  was  no  end.  Thanks  to  the  attraction  he  possessed 
in  women's  eyes,  his  love  adventures  had  been  many. 
Twice  he  had  managed  to  elude  the  vengeance  of  a  father 
and  an  elder  brother,  and  he  had  been  once  victorious  in 
an  encounter  with  a  weakly  rival  who  had  proved  to  be  no 
match  for  him.  For  although  he  was  below  the  medium 
height,  he  was  strongly  built  and  muscular;  his  roving  life 
had  given  him  a  good  physique.  On  the  whole,  he  had  taken 
life  out  there  much  as  he  had  found  it,  and  though  he  had 
landed  almost  penniless,  he  had  contrived,  by  one  means  or 
another,  to  earn  a  livelihood. 

The  hansom  entered  Russell  Square,  which  he  remem- 
bered vaguely,  for  he  did  not  know  London  well,  having 
only  spent  a  few  months  there  after  leaving  school  while 
seeking  an  employment. 

He  looked  around  in  search  of  houses  where  apartments 
were  to  let,  when,  presently,  the  words  "Bedford  Place" 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  told  the  cabman  to  drive  slowly  up 
what  seemed  to  be  a  long,  wide  street.  Here  there  was  no 
lack  of  window  cards  bearing  the  inscription,  "Apartments 
to  let  furnished."  Causing  the  man  to  stop  before  the  first 
he  saw  thus  labelled,  he  alighted. 

The  red-faced  woman  who  answered  to  his  knock  looked 
at  him  suspiciously,  as  if  his  somewhat  foreign  costume 
made  her  diffident.     There    was   a    bed-sitting    room    just 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  S 

Tacant,  she  said  in  answer  to  his  enquiry ;  but  how  much 
did  he  want  to  pay?  Well,  he  didn't  want  to  pay  much, 
just  then.  Six  or  seven  shillings  weekly  would  be  about  his 
price,  and  he  didn't  care  how  high  up  it  was. 

Oh,  there  was  nothing  for  that  in  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood. He  might  save  himself  the  trouble  of  going  farther. 
She  wanted  double  for  her  room.  But  as  he  seldom  believed 
any  assertion  which  he  had  not  checked,  he  walked  along  the 
street  and  knocked  at  other  doors,  with  much  the  same  result. 
For  a  few  moments  he  debated  within  himself  whether  he 
could  afford  ten  shillings,  at  which  price  he  could 
have  a  room  on  a  third  floor  back.  But  as  he  had 
made  a  resolution  that  he  would  husband  his  resources,  he 
decided  to  consult  the  cabman  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  cheaper 
quarters.  The  cabman  knew  a  street  off  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  called  Grafton  Street,  where  prices  did  not  run  so  high, 
and  as  the  name  caught  his  fancy,  he  told  him  at  once  to  drive 
there. 

Passing  out  of  the  quietude  of  Bloomsbury  into  a  long, 
noisy  thoroughfare,  of  which  Johns  had  very  little  recollection, 
the  cab  at  length  turned  off  to  the  right,  and  stopped  before 
one  of  a  row  of  houses  in  a  quiet  street,  built  in  a  style 
which  seemed  pretentious  for  the  neighbourhood.  Johns 
pulled  a  bell  which  was  so  loose  that  he  drew  out  a  foot  of 
wire  before  it  offered  the  least  resistance.  After  a  few  moments, 
a  stout  woman,  middle-aged,  appeared. 

Could  he  have  a  room  for  seven  shillings?  he  enquired. 
Yes,  that  was  the  price  she  wanted  for  a  nice  front  room  on 
the  third  floor.  Whereupon,  as  he  asked  to  see  it,  she  began 
to  roll  slowly  up  the  somewhat  narrow  stairs,  requesting  him  to 
follow.  There  was  a  complex  odour  in  the  house,  one  of  those 
indefinable  smells  of  London  lodging-houses  composed  of 
emanations  from  greasy  kitchens,  defective  drains,  and  musti- 
ness  of  furniture.  The  stair  carp&ts  were  threadbare  in  many 
places,  and  here  and  there  the  wall  paper  of  the  staircase  was 
unstuck. 

The  stout  woman  turned  the  handle  of  a  door  on  the  top  of 
the  third  flight,  and  requested  Johns  to  enter.  He  found 
himself  in  a  large,  low-ceilinged  room,  in  which  the  musty 
smell  was  stronger.  In  one  corner  there  was  a  small  wash- 
stand  in  mahogany,  with  a  marble  top,  and  in  another  a  chest 
of  drawers  of  painted  deal. 

Between  the  two  windows  was  a  much  worn  horse-hair  sofa. 
A  round  table,  covered  with  a  green  cloth  stained  with  ink, 
stood  in  the  centra  and  a  laurge  iron  bedstead  occupied  nearly 


4  THE  ADVENTURES 

the  whole  of  the  small  back  room.  A  few  dissimilar  chairs 
were  dotted  here  and  there  upon  a  much  soiled  carpet. 

Johns's  first  act,after  casting  a  look  around,was  to  open  one  of 
the  windows  to  relieve  the  stuffiness.  He  next  turned  to  the 
woman  who  was  waiting  near  the  door,  and  said,  "  All  right, 
this  will  do,  I'll  take  it." 

Then  he  went  down,  paid  the  cabman,  and  returned  quickly 
bearing  his  portmanteau,  which  he  put  upon  a  chair,  and  began 
unpacking.  He  placed  his  linen  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  the 
chest  of  drawers,  which  he  noticed  was  unsteady  on  its  legs, 
distributed  his  toilet  requisites  about  the  room,  and  threw  a 
night-shirt  on  the  bed.  This  done,  he  drew  a  volume  of 
Shelley's  poems  from  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat  (which  he  had 
not  taken  off),  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  Then  he  sat  down 
on  the  sofa,  took  a  cigarette  from  a  case  he  produced  from  an 
inner  pocket,  lit  it,  and  began  to  smoke. 

Here  he  was  at  length  in  London  with  a  long  task  before 
him,  and  but  a  very  hazy  notion  as  to  how  it  was  to  be  begun. 
For  a  man  who  had  no  footing  in  any  of  the  professions, 
and  who  wanted  money  badly,  there  were  only  two  things  open 
— journalism  or  business.  One  or  the  other  he  must  adopt. 
His  taste  inclined  to  letters,  for  which  he  had  a  bent,  but  then 
business  offered  a  better  chance  of  becoming  rich,  and  his 
aim  was  to  become  rich.  But  yet,  again,  how  could  he  do 
anything  in  business  without  capital,  and  what  means  had  he 
of  obtaining  any  ?  None  whatever,  whereas  in  journalism 
the  case  was  different :  he  might  make  his  head  supply  the 
capital,  and  journalism  led  to  other  things. 

Presently,  after  turning  over  the  question  in  his  mind,  he 
rose,  and,  taking  a  sheet  of  paper  from  his  wallet  on  the 
table,  began  to  write  a  letter  to  his  parents.  He  had  not 
written  to  them  for  a  long  time,  and  his  return  would  be  a 
piece  of  news  for  the  old  retired  fisherman  and  his  wife  in  their 
Guernsey  village.  No  doubt  they  would  be  disappointed  when 
they  found  that  he  had  come  away  without  having  accomplished 
anything,  especially  as  they  had  stinted  themselves  sorely,  first 
to  give  him  an  education  at  the  College,  and  then  to 
send  him  to  Australia.  He  commenced,  therefore,  with 
a  little  explanation  of  his  motives  for  leaving,  and 
ended  by  promising  that  his  next  letter  would  contain 
good  news.  And  they  wouldn't,  he  said,  have  long  to 
wait  for  it.  When  he  had  finished,  he  folded  the  letter, 
placed  it  in  an  envelope,  and  addressed  it  in  a  bold,  clear 
hand  to  Mrs.  David  Johns,  St  Martin's,  adding  in  the  right- 
hand  comer,  "Guernsey."    This  done,  he  lit  another  cigarette 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  ( 

and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  five.  He  rose,  put 
on  his  hat,  and  left  his  room.  His  landlady,  whom  he  met  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  handed  him  a  well-worn  latch-key,  and 
having  now  a  r®of  to  shelter  him,  he  sallied  forth  to  post  his 
letter,  and  to  seek  a  restaurant,  for  he  was  feeling  hungry,  not 
having  eaten  since  the  morning.  He  walked  along  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  looking  at  the  shops,  full  of  middle-class  com- 
modities, which  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  unable  to 
ideaUse ;  at  the  tawdry  women  stopped  before  the  windows  of 
cheap  bonnet  shops;  at  the  ragged  females  issuing  from 
palatial  public  houses;  at  the  workmen  returning  from  their 
work  with  a  jaunty  air  of  self-complacency ;  at  the  pale-faced 
urchins  playing  on  the  pavements ;  and  at  the  ceaseless  traffic 
in  the  road.  Into  the  first  pillar-box  he  saw,  he  thrust  his  letter. 
Then  he  began  to  make  his  way  down  Shaftesbury  Avenue. 
•'This  looks  dismal,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  noticed  the  dirty 
walls  of  the  high  buildings  and  the  mean  side  streets.  But  he 
had  seen  much  the  same  aspects  previously  in  Sydney,  and 
he  pursued  his  way  westward,  seeking  a  place  at  which  to 
dine. 

When  he  arrived  at  Piccadilly  Circus,  and  beheld  an  open 
space  towards  which  several  ends  of  streets  converged  at  all 
angles  incoherently,  and  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a 
ponderous  metal  fountain  surmounted  by  a  winged  figure 
which,  balanced  on  one  leg,  was  shooting  grotesquely  with 
a  bow  and  arrow  at  the  little  crowd  of  arabs  gathered 
round  the  base,  he  laughed.  "A  pretty  mess  they've  made 
of  this,"  he  said,  for  he  was  not  without  taste,  and  he  had 
acquired  as  much  culture  as  he  was  able  in  the  sedentary 
intervals  of  his  roving  life.  He  crossed  to  the  island  and 
looked  about  him.  Presently  the  words  "Caf^  Monico,"  in 
large  white  letters,  on  a  house,  attracted  his  attention. 

Could  he  afford  to  dine  at  a  big  restaurant?  Well,  no,  he 
couldn't,  certainly  ;  but  as  this  was  his  first  day  in  London,  he 
was  inclined  to  celebrate  the  circumstance  a  little  lavishly.  So 
he  crossed  the  road  again,  and  entered  the  place  with  a  firm 
step  and  an  air  of  dignified  assurance.  Passing  through  the 
ca.{6  where  drinks  were  being  served  by  Continental  waiters  to 
somewhat  showily  dressed  people  seated  at  round  tables,  he  found 
himself  in  a  vast  dining  hall,  which  he  recollected  for  having 
once  had  dinner  there  before.  He  seated  himself  on  the  divan 
before  a  vacant  table,  next  to  one  at  which  a  lady  was  finishing 
her  dinner,  and  ordered  So/es  Colbert^  an  entrecote,  and  sweets, 
as  well  as  a  half  bottle  of  ChAteau  Lafitte.  While  he  was 
w^ting  for  the  meal,  he  cast  a  glance  at  the  lad^  near  him,  who 


6  THE  ADVENTURES 

was  looking  in  his  direction  smiling,  but  seeing  that  her  face 
was  faded,  even  jaded,  and  far  from  pretty,  he  took  up  an 
evening  paper  and  read  it  until  his  dinner  came.  Then  he  ate 
heartily,  finding  the  dishes  excellent,  and  the  wine  grateful, 
after  the  coarse  fare  he  had  had  on  board  the  liner  as  a  third- 
class  passenger.  When  he  had  finished,  he  called  for  coffee 
and  a  cigar,  and  sat  for  more  than  half  an  hour  watching  the 
diners,  and  trying  to  weave  plans  for  future  action.  When  the 
waiter  brought  the  bill  it  amounted  to  seven  shillings.  Draw- 
ing out  his  purse,  he  threw  a  sovereign  upon  the  table  with  the 
air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  spend  freely.  The  waiter  quickly 
produced  the  change,  and  Johns  left  a  shilling  on  the  table  for 
him.  The  man  bowed  and  helped  him  deferentially  to  put  on 
his  coat.  "  One  gets  a  lot  of  politeness  in  this  country  for  a 
shilling,"  he  thought,  "much  more  than  in  Australia." 

As  it  was  still  early,  he  drifted  along  Piccadilly,  making  his 
way  against  a  stream  of  home-going  shop  assistants  of  both 
sexes.  Many  of  the  shops  were  already  shut,  and  others  were 
being  closed,  as  the  noise  of  rolling  shutters  indicated.  Johns 
stopped  before  what  seemed  to  be  a  French  provision  shop, 
with  sides  of  white  marble,  and  a  rich  collection  of  braised 
edibles  in  the  window.  A  little  blonde  serving  girl  had  caught 
his  eye,  and  she  seemed  so  piquante  in  her  black  frock  and 
snow-white  apron,  that  he  debated  with  himself  for  a  few 
moments  whether  he  should  enter  and  order  something,  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  making  her  acquaintance.  But,  when 
he  thought  of  the  bill  he  had  just  paid,  he  decided  that  it 
would  be  imprudent,  and  he  resumed  his  walk  with  a  feeling 
of  annoyance  and  regret.  Certainly  he  might  have  entered 
without  buying  anything,  but  of  what  use  would  it  have  been, 
since  he  couldn't  afford  to  pursue  the  adventure  further  ?  And 
he  liked  pursuing  his  adventures  to  the  end. 

When  he  reached  Burlington  House,  something  unusual 
seemed  to  be  taking  place.  A  little  crowd  was  gathered  on 
either  side  of  the  high  archway,  looking  at  the  private  carriages 
which  were  entering  in  quick  succession,  filled  with  people  in 
evening  dress.  Evidently  a  banquet  or  a  reception  was  being 
held.  He  stood  for  a  few  moments  amid  the  crowd,  looking 
also,  and  the  people  in  the  carriages  appeared  to  him  so  dis- 
dainful in  the  display  of  their  wealth  that  he  grew  angry  with 
them  for  possessing  it,  while  he,  with  a  capacity  for  pleasure  as 
great  as  theirs,  and  with  brains  as  good  as  theirs,  was  in  want 
of  a  ten-pound  note.  This  was  altogether  wrong  and  contrary 
to  fitness.  It  must  be  remedied,  and  soon.  Thinking  thus, 
be  took  advantage  of  an  interval  to  pyoss,  and  continued  bjf 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  t 

way  up  Piccadilly.  Broughams  and  hansoms  passed  him,  full 
of  people  going  out  to  dinner  or  to  the  play,  and  the  lights 
were  lit  in  the  club-houses  of  St.  James',  down  which  he  paused 
to  look  a  moment.  When  he  arrived  at  the  Berkeley  Hotel  he 
paused  again,  for  he  could  see  into  the  dining-room,  which  was 
full  of  men  and  women  in  evening  dress,  dining  at  little  tables, 
lighted  by  red-shaded  candles.  And  the  same  feeling  of  irrita- 
tion came  over  him  which  he  had  experienced  a  few  moments 
before.  They  looked  so  surfeited  with  well  being,  so  comfortable, 
so  calmly,  masterfully  happy  in  their  luxury,  so  brilliant,  that 
they  excited  in  him  mingled  feelings  of  envy,  admiration,  and 
a  kind  of  scorn.  Quite  close  to  him,  so  close  that,  had  the 
window  been  open,  he  might  have  touched  her,  a  lady  was 
seated  with  her  back  towards  him,  and  he  looked  with  admira- 
tion at  the  fresh  white  flesh  to  which  the  subdued  light  of  the 
shaded  candles  lent  a  tint  of  exceeding  softness.  He  could 
not  well  see  her  face,  but  he  noticed  that  she  had  light-brown 
hair,  and  that  she  was  young  and  shapely.  He  scrutinized  the 
others  at  the  table,  wondering  which  of  them  was  her  husband, 
or  if  she  had  a  husband,  or  if  she  was  in  any  way  related  to 
the  middle-aged,  bejewelled  lady  on  her  right,  or  to  either  of 
the  two  men  of  elderly  appearance  who  made  up  the  party. 
But,  as  he  was  eyeing  the  stouter  of  the  two — a  man  some- 
where between  fifty-five  and  sixty — he  fancied  he  had  seen  that 
physiognomy  before.  He  looked  again.  Yes,  certainly,  he 
had  seen  the  man  before.  But  where?  He  searched  his 
memory  for  a  few  moments,  when  suddenly  he  recollected. 
The  stout  man  was  the  newspaper  proprietor  from  England 
whom,  during  his  brief  career  as  a  journalist  in  Melbourne,  he 
had  been  deputed  to  pilot  round  the  city.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it.  He  remembered  the  double  chin,  the  fat  neck, 
and  the  little  peering  eyes,  and  he  told  himself  that  this  was 
an  opportunity  which  was  too  good  to  be  missed.  "  By  God," 
he  said,  "  what  luck ! "  But  how  was  the  gentleman  to  be 
approached?  He  couldn't  present  himself  at  that  moment 
while  they  were  in  the  middle  of  their  dinner !  He  would  wait 
till  they  had  finished. 

He  paced  slowly  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  hotel,  keeping 
his  eye  upon  the  little  party,  and  noticing  the  progress  they 
were  making  with  their  dinner  by  the  dishes  which  the  waiters 
served.  The  menu  seemed  inexhaustible,  for,  when  he  had 
been  pacing  fully  half  an  hour,  fresh  dishes  were  still  arriving. 
He  muttered,  "  They  take  a  long  time  filling ! " 

At  length,  when  his  patience  was  almost  at  an  end,  he  saw 
the  sweets  arrive.     It  was  time  to  prepare  for  action.     He 


8  THE  ADVENTURES 

vaguely  remembered  the  name  of  the  man  he  was  going  to 
address.  Something  Uke  Lawson;  or  was  it  Dawson?  Yes, 
Dawson  seemed  to  be  the  name.  At  any  rate  it  was  good 
enough  to  try.  He  waited  a  few  more  minutes  until  the  waiters 
brought  the  dessert,  and  then  he  walked  up  Berkeley  Street  to 
the  main  entrance.  The  hall  porter  scanned  him  narrowly,  and 
asked  him,  somewhat  gruffly,  what  he  wanted.  But  he  drew  out 
his  pocket-case,  and  selecting  the  cleanest  of  the  few  cards  he 
had  left,  he  wrote  underneath  his  name,  ^^of  Melbourne^  would 
like  to  speak  to  you  on  urgent  business. ^^ 

"  There,"  he  said ;  "  send  that  in  to  the  gentleman  sitting  at 
the  table  in  the  left-hand  window,  opposite  a  lady  with  light 
hair." 

The  man  looked  at  the  card,  and  then  again  at  Johns,  whose 
appearance  did  not  seem  to  please  him.  "  Send  it  in,"  Johns 
repeated,  firmly,  and  with  authority ;  **  it's  urgent."  This  time 
the  man  obeyed,  though  churlishly. 

The  waiter  who  had  been  sent  in  with  the  card  returned 
presently.  The  gentleman,  he  said,  didn't  quite  remember 
Mr.  Johns,  but  would  see  him  later  in  the  hall. 

Johns  took  a  seat,  congratulating  himself  on  the  success  of 
his  first  move.  He  waited  foi  nearly  half  an  hour  watching  the 
diners  leaving  the  dining  room  in  groups,  until  at  length  his 
man  appeared  accompanied  by  the  remainder  of  the  party. 

Johns  rose  at  once. 

" I  think  you  must  remember  me,"  he  said ;  "I  took  you 
round  in  Melbourne." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  recollect,"  the  stout  man  answered,  stiffly.  And 
then  saying  that  he  had  only  a  few  moments  to  spare,  he  led 
Johns  to  a  small  parlour  which  was  already  occupied  by  the 
remainder  of  the  party.  "  And  what,  may  I  ask,  is  the  urgent 
business  ?  " 

"There  isn't  any,"  Johns  said,  flatly,  and  with  an  intonation 
peculiar  to  him,  "  except  that  I  wanted  to  see  you,  and  I  didn't 
know  how  to  manage  it." 

The  stout  man  frowned.  But  Johns  continued  quickly, 
noticing  that  the  lady  with  light  hair  was  looking  at  him. 

"  It  does  seem  a  strange  proceeding,  I  admit,  and  I  apologise. 
But  the  fact  is,  I've  just  arrived  this  morning  from  Australia, 
and,  as  I  don't  intend  to  go  back  again,  I  want  work  here. 
You,  sir,  I  believe,  own  newspapers,  and  therefore  you  can  give 
me  work.  Pray,  don't  say  you  haven't  got  a  vacancy.  There 
are  always  vacancies,  and  I'll  put  life  into  your  paper ;  life,  sir, 
and  you  won't  regret  it  if  you  take  me  on." 

The  stout  man  looked  at  Johns  with  evident  surprise,  while 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  9 

foe  fair-haired  lady,  who  had  been  listening,  smiled  encourag- 
ing'ry,  Johns  thought. 

"  You've  a  good  opinion  of  yourself,  at  all  events,  young  man ; 
but  the  question  is  whether  others  will  have  the  same  of  you." 

"  Try  me,  and  you'll  see." 

Again  the  stout  man  surveyed  Johns,  this  time  with  more 
interest. 

He  reflected  for  a  moment,  then  he  said — 

"  I  don't  beUeve  it  will  be  of  any  use,  but  if  you  like  to  call 
io-morrow  at  the  office  of  the  Planet  at  half-past  twelve,  I  may 
show  you  to  the  editor." 

"  Thanks,  that's  all  I  want.  Your  name,  sir,  is  Mr.  Dawson, 
I  believe." 

**  That's  my  name,  and  I  wish  you  a  good  evening." 

Johns  rose.  He  made  a  bow  to  the  fair-haired  lady,  includ- 
ing Dawson  in  it,  and  the  couple  who  seemed  to  be  the  hosts. 
Then,  without  more  words,  he  left. 

He  was  pleased  with  himself,  and  he  walked  towards  Hyde 
Park  Corner  with  a  light  step,  for  he  felt  that  in  a  few  moments, 
by  a  lucky  chance,  the  outlook  had  changed  greatly  for  the 
better.  Dawson,  he  deemed,  was  sent  him  from  the  skies. 
He  didn't  regret  his  expensive  dinner  now  that  he  had  got  so 
suddenly  upon  the  right  tack.  It  seemed,  somehow,  to  have 
led  to  it. 

When  he  reached  the  Corner,  as  the  empty  park  did  not 
look  inviting,  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps,  wondering 
how  he  was  to  pass  the  evening. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  street  traffic.  The  dinners  were 
over,  and  London  was  digesting.  The  shops  were  shut,  and 
the  streets  had  assumed  their  nightly  aspect.  Johns  strolled 
along  until  he  found  himself  again  before  the  fountain,  where 
he  bought  a  Planet.  Then  he  crossed  to  the  further  pave- 
ment, and  continued  his  way  to  Leicester  Square.  An  even- 
ing's entertainment  was  offered  him  at  the  Empire  Theatre, 
before  which  he  stood  reading  the  long  programme  displayed 
upon  the  walls.  Once  or  twice  he  was  on  the  point  of  enter- 
ing, but  when  he  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  felt  the 
thinness  of  his  purse,  in  which  the  sovereigns  took  up  so 
little  room,  he  abandoned  the  idea.  "No,"  he  said;  "I  must 
stick  to  them  like  glue." 

Still,  the  evening  had  to  be  spent  somehow;  so  he  walked 
up  Regent  Street,  and,  noticing  the  Caf6  Royal,  entered  it. 
Here  he  would  be  able  to  pass  the  time.  He  took  a  seat 
in  the  gilded  room,  full  of  foreigners,  called  for  a  glass  of 
maraschino,  and  became   much    interested   in  watching  two 


fo  THE  ADVENTURES 

Spaniards,  next  him,  playing  dominoes.  Then,  when  the 
clock  above  the  counter  was  pointing  to  a  quarter  be/ore 
twelve,  and  the  Cz(6  was  emptying,  he  left. 

As  it  was  a  fine  night,  he  thought  he  would  take  the 
longest  road  home  by  Regent  Street,  and  he  strolled  leisurely 
up  the  Quadrant,  where  his  seemingly  provincial  costume 
singled  him  out  to  the  nightly  promenaders  of  many 
nationalities,  by  several  of  whom  he  was  accosted. 

But  Johns  had  no  taste  for  deteriorated  charms,  and  he 
walked  along  without  responding  to  their  overtures,  until  at 
length,  as  he  wanted  to  think,  and  their  chatter  prevented  him 
from  doing  so,  he  grew  impatient,  and,  when  a  stout  enamelled 
damsel  caught  him  by  the  arm,  he  turned  round  upon  her 
and  told  her  roughly  to  be  off.  She  answered  with  a  volley  of 
invectives,  which  ended  with — "You  little  pauper;  you  can't 
even  buy  yourself  a  decent  coat."  He  only  laughed,  and  con- 
tinued on  his  way,  followed,  until  he  was  out  of  hearing,  by 
more  abuse  of  the  same  kind. 

"  They're  all  alike,"  he  said,  "  when  they're  not  appre- 
ciated." 

In  Oxford  Street,  again,  he  had  to  run  the  gauntlet;  but  as  he 
grunted  something  like  a  "  No  "  as  soon  as  he  was  approached, 
he  was  not  much  molested,  and  he  reached  his  quarters  half  an 
hour  after  midnight. 

The  door  of  the  house  was  being  opened  by  a  rather  pretty, 
fair-haired  girl,  sufficiently  well-dressed,  who  was  followed  in  by 
a  young  man.  Johns  was  the  last  to  enter,  and,  as  he  was 
shutting  the  door,  he  heard  the  lady  say,  "  This  way,"  and  saw 
the  couple  disappear  into  a  room  on  the  ground  floor. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  without  thinking  more  about 
it,  took  a  candle  from  the  table,  lit  it,  mounted  the  three 
flights  of  stairs  rapidly,  and  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  awoke,  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  He  rose  quickly,  and,  in  dressing,  selected  the  best 
of  his  four  shirts,  cutting  the  frayed  edge  of  one  of  its  wrist- 
bands with  a  pair  of  scissors.  Then  he  brushed  his  clothes, 
and  erased,  as  best  he  could,  a  spot  upon  the  overcoat  with  the 
aid  of  a  wet  towel.  After  this  he  left  his  room,  and  hurried  to 
a  bread  shop  in  New  Oxford  Street  for  breakfast. 

It  was  scarcely  nine  o'clock,  and  the  shop  was  empty.  A 
woman  with  bare  arms  was  sweeping  the  floor,  while  the  serving 
girls  were  arranging  cakes  and  buns  in  the  high,  wide  window. 
On  the  counter  the  coffee-urns  were  smoking  fragrantly.  Johns 
ordered  a  modest  breakfast,  and  began  to  read  the  copy  of  the 
fl^rut  which  he  had  bought  the  night  before,  concentrating 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  ii 

his  attention  on  its  contents,  so  that  he  might  become 
familiar  with  its  policy. 

His  first  impression  was  that  it  was  well  written,  and 
he  saw  some  articles  which  surpassed  anything  he  remem- 
bered in  his  Australasian  experience,  though  that,  it  was 
true,  had  not  lasted  longer  than  a  fortnight.  There  appeared 
to  be  a  place  for  every  interest  in  the  yellow  sheet,  from 
football  to  bimetalism,  and  he  noticed  that  the  City  Article 
was  long  and  prominent.  As  for  the  paper's  politics,  he 
could  not  quite  unravel  them,  but  he  gathered  that  they  were 
radical. 

When  he  had  finished  his  breakfast  and  the  paper,  as  he  had 
much  time  before  him,  he  sauntered  slowly  towards  the  Strand, 
enjoying  the  fresh  morning  air.  Feeling  stimulated  by  the 
bustle  of  the  busy  streets,  he  spent  the  hours  before  his 
interview  exploring  the  land  of  newspapers  in  the  vicinity  of 
Fleet  Street,  until  his  watch  told  him  that  it  was  time  to  present 
himself  at  the  office  of  the  Planet. 

This  was  located  in  the  Strand,  in  a  large  house  possessing 
a  faQade  on  the  street,  bearing  the  name  of  the  journal  in  large, 
gilt  letters  in  German  text.  When  he  reached  it,  he  pushed 
one  side  of  the  swing  door,  and  entered  a  long  room  in  which 
thick  parcels  of  papers  were  being  handed  over  a  counter  by 
clerks  to  a  crowd  of  newsboys. 

Could  he  see  Mr.  Dawson,  he  enquired. 

**  First  door  round  the  corner." 

Johns  repaired  to  the  side  street,  where  he  found  a  narrow 
doorway,  above  which  he  read  The  Planet^  Editorial  Offices. 
He  ascended  the  flight  of  steps  before  him,  and,  entering  the 
first  room  he  saw,  he  told  an  old  man,  who  was  sitting  at  a 
table  in  a  small  office  strewn  with  papers,  that  he  had  come 
to  see  Mr.  Dawson. 

•'  Have  you  an  appointment  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  it's  the  last  door  on  the  right,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
passage." 

Johns  hastened  down  the  corridor,  and  found  himself  m  an 
ante-room  filled  with  people  who  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
an  interview.  A  young  man  with  a  pale  face  was  seated  at 
a  table,  writing.  Johns  gave  him  his  card,  saying  that 
Mr.  Dawson  was  expecting  him. 

"  If  you'll  take  a  seat,  your  card  shall  be  sent  in." 

Johns  looked  round  the  room.  All  the  seats  were  occupied. 
So  he  took  up  a  position  near  the  window,  and,  leaning  against 
the  wall,   observed    the    visitors.      They  were   mostly  meo 


13  THE  ADVENTURES 

approaching  middle  age,  pale,  and  wearing  their  hair  longer  than 
it  is  generally  worn.  They  had  a  tired,  nervous  look,  and  there 
were  well-marked  lines  about  the  lower  portion  of  their  faces. 
Their  clothes  were  rather  crumpled,  as  if  they  had  been  travel- 
ling or  sleeping  in  them,  and  their  neckties  were  negligently 
tied.  They  sat  there  without  speaking  to  each  other.  One,  a 
man  whose  hair  was  beginning  to  be  silvered,  was  turning  over 
the  pages  of  a  manuscript ;  the  others  were  either  reading  the 
first  edition  of  the  paper,  fresh  from  the  printer's  hands,  or 
looking  on  the  floor  reflectively.  There  was  one  woman 
among  them,  neither  young  or  old,  but  singularly  plain  and 
eccentrically  dressed.  She  appeared  absorbed  in  the  perusal 
of  a  letter.  But  they  all  wore  an  expression  which  seemed  to 
Johns  so  peculiarly  intense  and  eager,  that  he  reflected,  "  they 
take  it  seriously  at  all  events." 

It  was  a  little  time  before  his  card  was  handed  in — not  until 
a  clerk  returned,  whose  duty  it  seemed  to  be  to  arrange  the 
interviews.  And  when,  at  length,  after  a  long  wait,  his  turn 
came,  he  was  conducted  to  a  room  on  the  other  side  of  the 
lengthy  passage. 

Here  Dawson  was  seated  at  a  desk  in  the  middle  of  a 
spacious,  though  plainly-furnished  room,  reading  the  first  edition 
of  the  Planet  also.  As  he  did  not  look  up  or  make  any  sign 
to  welcome  him,  Johns,  after  a  moment's  pause,  said  in  his 
deep  voice — 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dawson,  I'm  here." 

The  stout  man  started,  and  put  down  the  paper. 

"  I  hear  you  are,"  he  said.  "  What  is  it  that  you  really 
want?" 

*'  I  want  to  write,  as  I  told  you  yesterday." 

Dawson  smiled. 

*'  That's  not  done  as  easily  as  you  imagine.  Who  are  you  ? 
What  are  you  ?  Where  did  you  get  your  education,  and  what 
do  you  fancy  you  can  do  for  us  ?  Tell  me  as  quickly  as  you 
can,  because  I'm  busy." 

"  My  name  you  know.  At  present  I'm  not  anything  in 
particular.  I  was  educated  at  Guernsey  College,  and  I  can  do 
whatever  there  is  to  do." 

Dawson  adjusted  his  glasses,  and  inspected  Johns  anew. 
Then  he  said,  *'  It's  quite  unusual  for  me  to  see  would-be 
contributors,  but  as  you  appear  to  have  some  sort  of  an  idea 
that  you  can  do  something,  I  suppose  I  must  take  you  in  to 
Mr.  Boyd.     Hill  pretty  soon  get  your  measure." 

Upon  this  Dawson  rose,  and  requested  Johns  to  follow  him. 
They  re-crossed  the  passage,  passed  through  the  ante-room 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  13 

again,  and  then  into  the  editor's  room,  through  a  baize-covered 
door. 

This  was  a  long  wood-paneled  chamber,  with  a  skylight  in 
the  ceiling.  A  middle-aged,  somewhat  red-faced  man,  with  a 
short  light  beard,  sat  at  the  head  of  a  long  table.  He  was  look- 
ing at  a  golf  stick  which  a  younger  man,  with  rather  long  dark 
hair  and  a  shaven  upper  lip,  was  showing  him.  Two  others — 
young  also — of  the  journalistic  stamp,  better  dressed  than  those 
whom  Johns  had  seen  in  the  ante-room,  were  apparently 
engaged  in  a  discussion.  Book-shelves,  filled  with  books, 
ran  around  the  room,  and  on  a  side-table  stood  four  empty 
glasses  which  diffused  an  odour  of  stale  spirits,  mingling  with 
a  combined  smell  of  paper,  printer's  ink,  tobacco — a  curious 
indefinable  smell,  peculiar  to  the  offices  of  journals. 

Dawson  said,  addressing  the  editor  at  the  head  of  the  table — 

"  Here's  a  man,  Boyd,  I  wish  you'd  try.  He  fancies  he  can 
work  for  us — says  he  can  do  anything." 

The  editor  put  down  the  golf  club,  and  said  discontentedly, 
'•  But  we're  full — ten  times  over." 

"  I  know  we  are,  but  we're  not  so  crammed  with  excellence 
that  we  couldn't  dispense  with  one  or  two  if  we  found  better. 
I  didn't  know  whether  he  might  or  might  not  be  useful.  At  all 
events,  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would  ascertain." 

The  last  words  sounded  somewhat  like  an  order,  and  so  the 
editor,  visibly  annoyed,  and  looking  at  Johns  for  the  first  time, 
said  carelessly — 

"  Very  well,  then,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  write  me,  say, 
a  column  on  Parker's  Education  Bill.     We  slate  the  Board." 

Johns,  who  had  not  followed  English  questions  closely  in 
Australia,  neither  knew  who  Parker  was  nor  what  his  Education 
Bill  might  be ;  but  he  answered  promptly,  "  Certainly,"  adding 
immediately,  "  I'll  slate  the  Board." 

Then,  as  he  was  preparing  to  withdraw,  Boyd  said,  turning  to 
one  of  the  young  men  who  had  ceased  talking,  and  were  look- 
ing at  Johns — 

"  Coulston,  would  you  mind  showing  Mr.  Johns  to  the 
reporters'  room  ?" 

Johns  asked,  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  write  it  in  the  office  ?" 

"  I  should  prefer  it." 

Seeing  that  there  was  no  alternative,  Johns  expressed  nis 
readiness  to  follow  Coulston,  and  they  withdrew  together. 

The  reporters'  rooms  were  on  the  floor  above,  and  as  they 
ascended  the  stairs,  Coulston,  a  short,  stoutish  man,  of  about 
thirty,  with  a  round  face  and  light,  curly  hair,  remarked,  "  I 
suppose  you're  new  to  this  sort  of  thing?" 


14  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  answered  with  assurance,  "No;  four  years  on  the 
Melbourne  News." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Coulston,  with  consideration.  "Are  you  an 
Australian  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  English.     What  is  your  position  on  the  paper?" 

"  Sub-editor." 

They  had  reached  the  reporters'  room.  This  was  a  long, 
bare  room,  somewhat  resembling  a  class-room  in  a  school,  with 
a  leather-covered  table  in  the  centre,  at  which  four  individuals 
of  unkempt  appearance  were  writing  as  if  for  life,  bending  over 
the  paper,  their  arms  spread  upon  the  table.  One  of  them  was 
wearing  an  Inverness  cape  and  a  soft  felt  hat,  as  if  he  had  come 
in  to  write  a  brief  report  and  were  going  out  again. 

He  alone  looked  up  when  Johns  and  Coulston  entered. 

"Take  a  seat  here,"  said  Coulston,  pointing  to  a  vacant  chair, 
and  I'll  send  you  in  some  paper.  If  you  want  Boyd  to  like 
your  'stuff'  you'd  better  make  it  strong." 

Saying  this,  he  left,  and  a  boy  in  uniform,  a  moment  after 
wards,  brought  the  paper. 

Johns  sat  looking  at  the  sheet  of  foolscap,  wondering  what  he 
was  going  to  fill  it  with.  His  mind  was  a  complete  blank  upon 
the  subject  of  Parker's  Education  Bill,  and  it  was  very  evident 
that  he  couldn't  draw  on  his  imagination.  He  must  either 
confess  his  ignorance  or  ask  assistance  of  one  of  the  four 
reporters  so  fanatically  busy.  Of  course,  he  might  have  told 
the  editor  at  once  that  he  was  unacquainted  with  the  question, 
but  it  would  have  made  a  bad  impression  at  the  outset,  and 
that  must  be  avoided  at  all  costs.  He  did  not  take  a  pen  lest 
the  four  reporters  should  notice  his  hesitation ;  but  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  twisted  his  moustache  as  if  he  were 
focusing  his  thoughts,  though  he  knew  very  well  that  if  he 
reflected  until  midnight  he  would  find  nothing  to  say  about 
Parkei's  Bill.  He  must  be  put  upon  the  track  by  someone. 
But  by  whom?  The  four  reporters  did  not  seem  helpful 
people,  and  they  were  eyeing  him  suspiciously,  every  now  and 
then,  as  they  dipped  their  pens  into  the  ink. 

Just  as  he  was  beginning  to  think  the  situation  rather 
desperate,  a  man  entered  with  a  Wellingtonian  type  of  face. 
He  was  slight,  and  rather  short,  though  dignified,  with  a  kind 
of  secretarial  air,  and  he  was  wearing  a  long  frock  coat.  Johns 
recognised  him  as  the  old  man  who  had  directed  him  to  the 
ante-room  on  his  arrival. 

"Some  more  little  jobs  for  you,  my  boys,"  he  said  to  the 
reporters,  who,  upon  his  entrance,  had  immediately  looked  up. 
"  Maskelyne,  you've  got  to  go  to  the  Millwall  docks  to  do  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  ij 

itrike.  Boyd  wants  you^  Thomas,  to  interview  Prince  Hanawai, 
who's  staying  at  Long's  Hotel.  There's  a  guinea  for  the  inter- 
preter if  you  can  find  one.  You,  Simson,  must  go  to  Islington 
to  do  the  Cattle.  There,  you  won't  complain  of  slackness  now." 

"No,"  said  Maskelyne,  the  gentleman  with  the  Inverness 
cape,  "it's  always  like  that.  Nothing  to  do  one  day,  and 
twice  too  much  the  next." 

"  Work,  my  friend,  and  don't  grumble,  and  bless  your  stars 
that  you've  got  the  work  to  do.  Take  me  as  an  example.  I'm 
going  to  work  right  on  to  the  very  end.  Why  ?  Because  I 
respect  my  body,  and  the  bits  of  gold  I  get  here  allow  me  to 
keep  it  clean  and  nourished.  If  they  ceased  to-morrow  I 
should  become  an  animal,  feeding  upon  garbage.  No,  no,  you 
can  take  my  advice  for  it,  my  boys,  work  is  the  only  chance  we 
have." 

Saying  this,  he  left. 

"He's  in  one  of  his  moralising  fits  to-day,"  said  Maskelyne, 
and  the  others  acquiesced. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Johns,  "  but  who  is  that  old 
gentleman?" 

"That's  old  Tarte." 

"  Is  that  his  real  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  have  no  nicknames  here.     They're  not  allowed." 

Johns  rose  and  went  out  quickly.  Descending  the  flight  of 
stairs  rapidly,  he  overtook  the  moralist  just  as  he  was  entering 
his  room. 

"  Mr.  Tarte,"  he  said,  "  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

"Step  in,  sir,  step  in." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  Parker's  Education  Bill  ?  " 

"My  dear  sir,  of  course  I  do.     Who  doesn't?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I'm  in  the  dark,  having 
just  come  over  from  Australia,  and  as  I'm  going  to  write  about 
that  Bill,  I  want  some  help.  If  you  will  give  me  a  hint  or  two, 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you,  and  depend  upon  it,  I'll  remember 
it,  especially  if  you  don't  tell  anyone  you  helped  me." 

Tarte  smiled. 

"  Don't  make  promises,  young  man.  They're  never  kept. 
Boyd's  trying  you,  I  suppose." 

"That's  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  always  ready  to  do  a  good  turn.  Parker  is  the 
member  for  North  Aldgate,  and  he  brought  in  a  bill  the  other 
day  to  reform  the  Board  and  to  give  the  little  urchins  more  to 
learn.  Of  course,  they've  far  too  much  already;  but  then 
we're  Radicals  who  cry  for  progress,  and  we  side  with  Parker. 
Do  you  understand  ?" 


x6  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Here's  an  article  about  it  by  Boyd  himself,  and  here's 
what  was  said  in  the  House  last  night.  Now  you  can  set 
to  work." 

Johns  seized  the  cuttings  eagerly,  and  feeling  himself  on 
the  right  track  now,  he  thanked  Tarte  hurriedly,  and  left. 

But  as  he  did  not  want  the  reporters  to  see  how  he  got  his 
information,  he  stopped  upon  the  stairs  and  read  the  extracts 
carefully,  repeating  the  names  of  the  men  who  had  taken  a  part 
in  the  debate  so  that  he  might  fix  them  in  his  memory.  When 
he  had  done  this,  he  went  on  to  the  landing,  and  there  he  tarried 
a  few  minutes  longer  to  reflect  upon  what  he  was  going  to  say. 
Then,  when  he  had  decided,  he  re-entered  the  reporters' 
room,  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table,  and  began  to  write. 

Having  been  a  schoolmaster,  the  subject  of  education  was 
familiar  to  him,  and  now  that  he  possessed  his  facts,  it  was 
not  long  before  he  had  filled  three  sheets  singularly  free 
from  errors  or  erasures.  Parker's  scheme,  he  wrote,  was 
perhaps  the  most  perfect  model  of  legislative  skill  that  had 
ever  been  invented.  It  provided  for  the  boy  from  the  bud- 
ding of  his  intellect  to  the  age  of  adolescence,  when  it  left 
him  fitted  for  every  walk  for  which  he  had  capacity  or  taste. 
The  greatness  of  a  nation  consisted  in  the  place  it  held  in 
the  van  of  progress,  and  England,  if  she  wished  to  retain 
her  place  at  the  head  of  nations,  should  spend  more  on 
public  education  than  any  other  country.  The  result  would 
be  an  increased  measure  of  advancement.  It  was  ridiculous 
to  fix  a  limit  to  gratuitous  instruction,  which  must  be  free 
to  extend  and  to  develop  to  the  utmost.  If  it  was  the 
duty  of  the  citizen  to  educate  the  children  of  the  citizen, 
who  could  say  that  that  duty  ended  when  a  mere  modicum 
of  learning  had  been  bestowed?  And  it  was  not  entirely 
upon  the  public  that  the  increased  expenditure  would  fall. 
It  must  be  partly  met  by  an  increased  economy  in  the 
administration  of  the  funds,  and  in  an  entire  reconstruction 
of  the  Board,  who  had  shown  themselves  to  be  hopeless 
blunderers  of  the  worst  stamp  it  was  ever  the  misfortune  of 
education  to  be  burdened  with.  All  this  must  be  changed, 
and  Parker  was  the  man  to  do  it. 

After  a  great  deal  more  in  the  same  strain,  he  put  down  his 
pen  and  read  his  article.  It  pleased  him,  for  he  thought  it 
clear  and  trenchant.  The  slating  of  the  Board  was  about 
as  forcible  as  he  could  make  it.  One  adjective  only  he  thought 
it  necessary  to  change,  finding  it  too  strong. 

Then  he  put  the  sheets   together  with  the  air  of  a  man 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  17 

who  has  done  creditable  work;  while  the  reporters,  who  by 
this  time  were  preparing  to  leave,   glanced  at  him  curiously. 

The  next  thing  to  be  done  was  to  take  his  manuscript  to 
Boyd,  and  he  started  for  the  purpose.  He  found  Coulston 
in  the  ante-room,  giving  directions  to  the  clerk. 

"  The  editor's  gone  out,"  said  Coulston,  "  but  you  can  give 
me  your  '  stuff,'  and  I'll  show  it  to  him  when  he  returns.  It's 
too  late  for  to-day,  you  know,  even  if  it  were  golden." 

Johns  handed  him  the  little  roll,  remarking  carelessly, 
"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  it — ifs  good.  I'll  call  again  to- 
morrow." 

Then  he  returned  to  Grafton  Street,  and  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  the  afternoon  in  his  bed-room,  reading  a  packet 
of  journals  he  had  brought  to  study  their  contents.  In 
the  evening  he  dined  at  a  cheap  Italian  restaurant  in  the 
Tottenham  Court  Road. 


CHAPTER 
SECOND 

THE  next  morning  Johns  reached  the  Strand  shortly 
before  mid-day,  just  as  the  first  editions  of  the  even- 
ing papers  were  making  their  appearance  in  the  streets, 
and  the  news-boys  were  proclaiming  them  in  cavernous 
and  strident  tones.  The  Star,  the  Evening  Neivs,  the  Globe 
were  being  borne  in  piles  upon  the  backs  of  ragged  urchins, 
some  of  whom  were  racing  with  each  other  in  their  eagerness 
to  reach  a  favoured  corner  first.  The  Planet  was  late  that 
morning,  and  Johns,  as  he  looked  for  it,  felt  his  pulse  beat 
/aster.  Either  it  contained  his  article  or  it  did  not,  and  for 
the  moment  his  prospects  were  considerably  bound  up  in  that. 
He  entered  a  tobacconist's,  bought  a  cigar  and  lit  it,  and  as 
he  was  leaving,  he  perceived  a  man  hurrying  down  the  street 
with  a  bundle  of  papers  under  his  arm,  holding  the  contents 
bill  of  the  Planet  before  him  Hke  an  apron.  Johns  made  a 
sign  to  him  to  stop,  and  bought  a  copy.  Then,  with  a  frown 
to  defy  disappointment,  he  opened  it,  and  the  first  article  which 
caught  his  eye  was  Retrogressive  Education — his  own  article 
printed  in  large  type  on  the  front  page. 

He  gave  a  little  whistle,  and  suddenly  became  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  increased  importance.  New  vistas  seemed  to  open, 
new  possibilities  to  dawn.  He  had  got  his  foot  in  the  stirrup 
of  the  horse  he  meant  to  ridel    How  he  would  ride  that  horse ! 

"  They  must  have  thought  it  deuced  good,"  he  said,  "  to  put 
it  first." 

As  he  walked  along  smoking  his  cigar,  he  read  his  article, 
noticing  with  satisfaction  that  it  had  been  printed  as  he  wrote 
it,  without  a  single  alteration,  and  pleased  with  its  composition 
which  struck  him  as  forcible  and  clear.  Journalism  seemed  to 
him  an  excellent  profession. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  19 

He  walked  down  one  side  of  the  Strand  and  up  another, 
feeling  that  he  had  already  played  a  part  in  the  general  activity 
by  providing  literary  food  that  day  for  thousands.  When  he 
reached  the  office  he  entered  it  with  a  firm  step,  as  if  his  place 
in  it  was  now  assured.  In  the  corridor,  he  met  Coulston,  who 
said  at  once,  "  You  see,  we've  printed  you.  Our  leader  man 
dried  up,  and  so  we  shoved  you  in.  I  suppose  you  want  to  see 
the  editor?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Johns,  without  noticing  the  first  part  of  Coulston's 
sentence. 

"  Then  step  in  there." 

Johns  entered  the  ante-room  and  took  a  seat.  Several  of  the 
callers  were  reading  the  Planet^  and  the  one  next  to  him,  his 
article  on  Parker's  Bill.  He  felt  conscious  of  a  certain  feeling 
of  superiority  over  the  crowd  of  postulants,  a  superiority 
acquired  since  his  visit  of  the  day  before,  and  he  was  inclined 
to  say  to  his  neighbour,  '*  /wrote  that  column,  and  I  flatter 
myself  it's  good.  I  mean  to  write  a  great  many  more  in  the 
same  style."  But  he  refrained,  and  said,  as  soon  as  the  visitor 
had  finished,  "  What,  sir,  do  you  think  of  that  article  ?  " 

The  reader  looked  up  at  Johns  suspiciously,  with  a  slight 
start,  and  said,  with  an  acidulated  smile,  "  I  should  call  it  start- 
ling, most  decidedly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Johns,  "  it  is  startling.  The  public  requires  to 
be  startled." 

His  neighbour  replied  with  a  smile  of  incredulity,  and  Johns 
thought,  "  the  fool's  jealous." 

After  he  had  waited  a  long  time,  and  the  ante-room  showed 
no  signs  of  emptying  by  calls  from  the  editorial  room,  Johns, 
whose  patience  was  exhausted,  went  out  to  look  for  Tarte.  He 
found  him  seated  before  his  table,  engaged  in  the  vague  kind  of 
paper-sorting  which  seemed  to  constitute  his  usual  employment. 

"  Well,"  said  Tarte,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ?  " 

*'  You  can  take  me  in  to  Boyd.  I  want  to  see  him  about 
my  article." 

"What  article?" 

"  The  one  I  spoke  to  you  about  yesterday.  Surely  you  read 
the  paper ;  it's  on  the  front  page ! " 

Tarte  smiled. 

'•  Ah,  my  friend,  when  you've  journalized  for  a  few  years, 
you'll  find  that  one  doesn't  trouble  one's  mind  with  too  much 
reading.  Life  is  a  poor  little  game  for  scribblers,  and  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it !    So  they  put  you  in,  did  they  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and,  as  I  don't  care  to  stay  in  the  ante-room  all  the 
aftemooD,  I  want  you  to  take  me  in." 


to  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Well,  I've  no  objection.     I'll  take  you  in  to  Caesar." 

Saying  this,  he  rose  and  led  Johns  to  the  editorial  room  by 
a  private  door. 

Boyd,  whose  face  was  redder  than  the  day  before,  was 
dictating  to  a  female  typist  with  a  pretty  face  and  delicate, 
tapering  fingers.  A  large  empty  glass  stood  on  the  table  at  his 
side. 

Tarte  said,  apologetically,  "  I've  brought  in  Mr.  Johns,  who 
would  like  to  say  a  word  to  you." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Boyd,  turning  his  red,  moist  eyes  on  Johns ; 
"  you  wrote  a  damned  bad  article  for  the  paper  yesterday." 

Johns  felt  the  blood  rise  quickly  to  his  face,  and  longed  to 
strangle  the  brutish  editor,  but  he  restrained  his  temper  with 
an  effort,  and  replied — 

*'  Pardon  me,  it  was  good  enough  for  the  front  page." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  measuring 
each  other.     Boyd  glanced  down  first. 

**  If  you  knew  why  you  appeared  in  that  position,"  he  replied, 
"  you  wouldn't  be  quite  so  pleased  with  your  performance. 
But  that's  nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  You  want  to  know 
what  you  are  to  do.  If  you  wish  to  work  for  us,  you  must 
join  the  reporters'  staff." 

"The  reporters'  staff?"  repeated  Johns,  concealing  his 
disappointment  with  great  difficulty. 

"Yes,  the  reporters'  staff.  You  didn't  imagine  you  were 
going  to  fill  the  first  page  every  day,  did  you  ?  " 

Johns  saw  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  submit. 
Evidently  Dawson  had  instructed  Boyd  to  make  the  offer,  such 
as  it  was,  and  his  chief  aim,  after  all,  was  to  gain  a  footing. 

He  answered,  "  Very  well  then,  Mr.  Boyd,  I  will." 

Upon  this  the  editor  went  on  dictating  without  taking  any 
further  notice  of  the  new  reporter.  Tarte,  however,  who  had 
been  listening,  touched  Johns  upon  the  arm,  and  made  a  sign 
to  him  to  follow.  As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  corridor  he 
said,  "  It's  the  old  story.  You've  done  something  good,  and 
they  want  to  let  you  down.  Sublime  humanity,  dear  sir,  is 
constituted  so." 

Johns  said,  "  They'll  find,  maybe,  that  they're  mistaken." 

He  now  applied  himself  to  win  the  friendship  of  Maskelyne 
by  inviting  him,  two  days  following,  to  a  wine  shop  in  the 
Strand,  where  wines  from  the  wood  were  served,  and  by  amusing 
him  with  stories  of  his  adventures — stories  which  he  told  well, 
and  with  a  kind  of  humour  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  Mark 
Twain.  At  first  Maskelyne  was  reticent,  but  at  length  he 
yielded  to  the  fascination  which  Johns,  when  he  liked,  was  able 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  21 

to  exercise,  and  he  was  soon  willing  to  impart  his  knowledge. 
Thus  he  confided  to  Johns  the  best  methods  of  obtaining 
interviews,  and  the  ablest  means  of  keeping  the  interviewed 
from  wandering,  and  of  leading  him  on  by  apt  suggestion  to 
clear  and  pertinent  replies. 

Some  people,  he  said,  were  difficult  to  tap,  and  even  when 
tapped  afforded  but  a  poor  result.  Others  gave  more  than  was 
required.  Then  there  were  those  who  thought  interviewing  an 
impertinence,  and  who  hadn't  realised  that  they  could  say  just 
what  they  liked,  and  create  exactly  the  impression  which  they 
chose  upon  the  public.  These  must  be  delicately  told  that  a 
strict  adherence  to  the  truth  was  by  no  means  indispensable. 
Again,  there  was  the  great  question  of  obtaining  interviews  with 
exalted  or  busy  people  who  had  no  interest  in  publicity. 
Opinions  were  divided  as  to  the  way  to  deal  with  them.  Some 
thought  it  better  to  "  plump  "  down  on  them  just  as  they  were 
leaving  home  or  reaching  it,  others  preferred  to  send  an 
eloquently-worded  letter  before  calling,  in  the  paper's  name. 
But  the  characters  of  interviewables  were  so  divergent  that  no 
rules  could  be  well  laid  down.  Sometimes  a  man  would  prefer 
to  write  the  interview  with  himself,  himself,  and  in  such  cases 
it  was  wise  to  let  him.     It  saved  time  and  trouble,  even  paper. 

'*  I've  always  had  a  great  ambition  to  do  a  king,"  said 
Maskelyne ;  "  but  in  kings  I  never  got  beyond  a  nigger.  No 
one  ever  has.  But  that  nigger  was  the  only  man  I  ever  found 
who  spoke  the  truth  !  You've  no  idea  how  people  lie  before  a 
note-book.  But  I  can't  be  telling  you  anything  you  didn't  know 
before.     You  must  have  seen  all  this  in  the  Melbourne  News. 

"  No,"  said  Johns,  with  gravity,  "  I  wrote  leaders  only." 

The  next  day  Maskelyne,  over  a  second  glass  of  port,  was  in 
a  particularly  communicative  mood,  and  Johns  asked  him  what 
he  knew  of  Dawson. 

"  Dawson,"  he  answered,  "  was  once  a  wholesale  grocer  in 
Upper  Thames  Street,  who  retired  with  a  fortune  and  bought 
the  paper  for  a  song  from  the  man  who  started  it.  He's  the 
nearest  file  on  earth.  He's  had  a  machine  made  for  him,  which 
we  call  the  columetre,  to  measure  printed  matter  almost  to  a 
pennyworth.  Only  a  few  years  ago  the  old  devil  married  a 
pretty  girl,  and  it  won't  be  long  before  he  gets  into  Parliament. 
So  you  see  what  grocery  can  do." 

Johns  listened  carefully  to  Maskelyne,  and  before  a  week 
was  over,  he  possessed  all  the  information  that  he  needed — he 
had  taken,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  all  his  bearings.  Unfor- 
tunately, although  he  was  nominally  upon  the  staff,  he  was 
without  fixed  salary,  his  earnings  depending  wholly  on  the 


it  THE  ADVENTURES 

number  of  the  "jobs  "  that  were  given  him  to  do.  But  as  those 
that  fell  to  his  share  during  the  first  fortnight  did  not  exceed 
two — a  brief  report  of  an  Exeter  Hall  meeting  and  an  account 
of  a  prize  fight  held  at  Islington;  and  as  these,  measured  by  the 
columetre,  represented  little  more  than  half  a  sovereign,  he  began 
to  feel  that  he  was  being  trifled  with,  and  he  suspected  that 
Boyd  was  trying  to  discourage  him  by  giving  him  as  little  work 
as  possible.  It  was  irritating  to  sit  all  day  in  the  reporters' 
room  and  to  see  himself  passed  by  in  the  distribution  of  the 
work,  and  he  was  determined  that  he  would  not  stand  it.  He 
had  made  several  attempts  to  have  an  interview  with  Dawson, 
but  the  great  man  was  always  busy,  and  referred  him  to  the 
editor,  who  was  even  busier.  When  he  spoke  to  Coulston 
about  his  want  of  work,  Coulston  told  him  that  new  men 
always  had  to  wait. 

"  And  supposing  they  starve  in  the  meanwhile?"  Johns  said, 
bluntly. 

"  That's  fMr  business,"  was  the  answer. 

The  reporters  also  were  beginning  to  smile  when  Johns 
entered  the  room ;  but  he  fixed  one  of  them  one  morning  as  he 
caught  him  in  the  act,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  so 
much  like  that  of  a  bull-dog  about  to  spring  that  the  scribe 
desisted  quickly.  To  make  matters  worse,  Tarte,  for  some 
reason  he  did  not  explain,  had  expressed  himself  unable  to 
introduce  Johns  again  to  the  editorial  room.  In  fine,  the 
situation  was  intolerable. 

One  afternoon,  however,  as  he  was  leaving  the  office,  resolved 
to  assert  himself  in  some  way  the  next  day,  and  to  either  obtain 
more  recognition  or  else  "  chuck  the  thing  "  altogether,  he  saw 
a  landau  stopped  before  the  office  door,  and  in  it  a  lady  whom 
he  at  once  recognised  as  the  wife  of  the  proprietor — the  lady 
who  had  smiled  encouragingly  that  evening  at  the  Berkeley. 
She  was  reading,  and  was  evidently  waiting  for  her  husband. 
Johns  reflected  for  a  moment.  He  had  been  accusing  his 
luck  pretty  harshly  for  the  last  few  days,  but  suddenly  he  felt 
inclined  to  bless  it.  A  woman,  young  and  pretty,  to  whom  he 
had  a  right  to  speak !  What  could  be  more  fortunate  ?  A 
door  seemed  opened  to  him  at  once. 

Buttoning  his  coat,  because  it  looked  fresher  so,  and  ascer- 
taining that  his  necktie  was  in  place,  he  stepped  forward  to 
the  carriage  door  and  raised  his  hat.  The  lady  looked  up 
enquiringly,  and  as  soon  as  she  recognised  him,  gave  him  a 
Kttle  nod. 

He  said,  somewhat  deferentially,  "I  trust  you  have  been 
wdl,  Mrs.  Dawson,  since  we  met." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  »3 

'*  Oh,  quite  well,  thank  you,"  she  replied,  smiling  blandly. 

But  he  fixed  his  penetrating  gaze  upon  her,  and,  before  it, 
she  looked  down.  Then,  in  the  deep  tone  that  lent  a  strange 
importance  to  the  most  commonplace  of  his  remarks,  he  said — 

"  It  is  not  often  you  grace  us  with  a  visit ! " 

"  As  it  was  so  fine  to-day,"  she  answered,  "  I  thought  I 
would  call  and  take  my  husband  for  a  drive." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  to-day  there  is  a  fine,  clear  sky 
in  London,  a  sky  which  reminds  me  of  the  pure  blue  stretches 
of  Australia,  where  life  is  vigorous  and  free." 

"  You're  fond  of  Australia,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  fond  of  it  for  its  vastness  and  its  beauty ;  but  glad  to 
return  to  England,  where  beauty  in  its  human  form  is  so 
complete."    And,  as  he  said  this,  he  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"  Really,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  you  are  appreciative.  And 
yet,  I  thought  the  Australian  ladies " 

He  shook  his  head,  and,  waving  his  hand  deprecatingly, 
exclaimed — 

"  Comparison  is  quite  impossible ! " 

She  laughed  again,  and,  closing  her  book,  smoothed  the 
folds  of  her  brown  cloth  dress  upon  her  knee.  As  she  did  so, 
he  observed  her  well,  deciding  in  his  mind  that  her  face  was 
fairly  pretty,  although  the  nose  was  a  little  long  and  the  lips  a 
little  pale.  Upon  the  whole,  though,  an  attractive  blonde, 
whom  he  judged  to  be  about  thirty. 

'•  My  husband  told  me  you  had  joined  the  paper,"  she  said 
presently ;  "  I  hope  you  like  it." 

"  Charming,"  he  replied,  "  skilfully  conducted — admirable." 

"  I  hope,  then,  that  we  shall  see  you  soon  at  Princes  Gate. 
I'm  'at  home'  on  Sundays." 

He  said,  with  fervency,  "  I  will  not  fail  to  call " ;  and  as  he 
judged  that  he  had  prolonged  the  interview  suflSciently,  and 
produced  a  good  effect,  he  raised  his  hat  again  and  bowed 
impressively. 

This  meeting  seemed  to  him  to  alter  the  position  of  affairs. 
He  had  now  a  means  of  attack,  which  a  few  minutes  before 
he  certainly  did  not  possess.  For  he  did  not  doubt  that  in 
Mrs.  Dawson  he  would  find  an  ally,  and  women,  he  thought, 
were  the  surest  channels  of  success. 

As  he  walked  along  the  Strand,  he  reflected  that  it  was  then 
Friday,  and  that  Mrs.  Dawson  had  said  she  would  be  at  home 
on  Sunday.  He  was  quite  determined  he  would  go  to  see  her; 
but  he  was  confronted  by  a  difficulty.  The  whole  of  his  ward- 
robe was  on  his  back,  and  a  black  coat  was  not  included  in  it. 
It  would  be  fatal  to  present  himself  in  a  suit  of  tweeds.     What 


ai  THE  ADVENTURES 

was  to  be  done  ?    His  fortnight's  living  had  reduced  his  little 
store  by  nearly  half,  and  the  Planet  paid  but  once  a  month. 

He  stopped  before  the  window  of  a  cheap  tailor  and  in- 
spected its  contents,  although  he  knew  that,  to  purchase  even 
the  cheapest  garment  ticketed,  would  have  emptied  his  purse 
completely.  And  yet  he  must  have  a  black  coat  somehow. 
Again  he  looked  at  the  sartorial  display  in  the  large  plate-glass 
window,  in  which  coats  of  many  shapes  were  stretched  on 
blocks,  without  a  crease  or  furrow,  exhibiting  an  apparent 
excellence  of  cut,  notwithstanding  their  excessive  cheapness. 
Presently,  without  exactly  knowing  what  he  was  going  to  say 
or  do,  he  entered  the  establishment. 

A  man,  with  a  coat  as  creaseless  as  the  models  in  the  window, 
and  an  air  of  bombastic  half  gentility,  asked  him  what  he 
might  require. 

"  I  want  a  coat,  but  to  pay  for  one  at  once  is  not  con- 
venient   " 

"  We  only  sell  for  cash,"  the  tailor  interrupted. 

"  Listen,  my  friend.  I'm  on  the  Planefs  staff,  as  you  will 
ascertain  if  you  send  a  messenger  to  inquire  at  the  office. 
If  you  let  me  have  what  I  want,  I'll  manage  a  street  accident 
near  your  shop,  which  will  give  you  a  thundering  advertise- 
ment. Something  like  this :  A  gentleman  fell,  in  an  apoplectic 
fit,  as  he  was  entering  the  tailoring  establishment  of  Messrs. 
Townsend  Brothers,  in  the  Strand,  at  whose  hands  he  received 
every  attention,  and  who  were  able,  as  he  was  a  customer  of 
theirs,  to  have  him  conveyed  to  his  own  home  as  soon  as 
medical  aid  had  been  obtained." 

The  tailor  thrust  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  waist- 
coat, and  remarked,  "  You're  a  'cute  one,  there's  no  mistake 
about  it,  and  I  don't  say  we  won't  come  to  business.  Give  me 
your  name,  and  my  brother  '11  go  and  ask  about  you," 

Johns  gave  his  name,  and  an  individual  of  the  same  type 
as  his  brother  started  for  the  office. 

While  he  was  gone,  Johns  smoked  a  cigarette.  The  tailor  gave 
some  finishing  touches  to  the  arrangement  of  his  window  blocks. 

Presently  the  messenger  returned,  and  whispered  something 
to  his  partner,  who  then  said — 

"  If  we  let  you  have  the  goods,  we  must  have  something 
down.     How  much  can  you  pay?" 

"Well,  say  ten  shillings  down." 

The  brothers  consulted  together,  and  informed  Johns  finally 
that  if  he  would  take  a  "  misfit  frock  "  he  might  have  one  on 
those  terms. 

lohns  asked  to  see  the  garment,  and  he  was  brought  a  coat 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  «5 

of  a  somewhat  ancient  cut,  though  sufficiently  presentable, 
which  chanced  to  fit  him  fairly  well.  It  was  without  a  waist- 
coat, but,  as  long  as  it  was  kept  buttoned,  no  one  would  be 
the  wiser.  He  could  wear  his  tweed  vest  and  his  trousers 
of  the  same. 

The  bargain  was  forthwith  concluded,  and  Johns,  after 
signing  an  acknowledgment  and  promising  that  the  adver- 
tisement would  appear  soon,  left  the  shop,  carrying  the  coat 
in  a  brown  paper  parcel  under  his  left  arm.  He  counted 
this,  as  he  walked  home,  as  not  the  least  piece  of  good 
fortune  he  had  had  that  day.  Now  he  was  properly 
equipped  for  the  visit  to  the  Dawsons !  He  said  nothing  at 
the  office  the  next  day  of  what  had  happened,  for  he  knew 
that  none  of  the  reporters  were  received  at  Princes  Gate, 
and  he  thought  it  useless  to  excite  jealousies  too  soon.  But 
he  told  Maskelyne  that  in  a  week  or  so  things  would  be 
going  well  for  him. 

When  the  Sunday  came  he  stayed  in  bed,  reading  and 
smoking  cigarettes,  till  mid-day.  Then  he  dressed  with  ex- 
treme care,  shaving  closely.  His  coat,  though  large,  looked 
well  enough  when  it  was  pulled  down  from  the  waist,  as  he 
discovered  by  several  trials  before  the  glass  in  standing  and 
sitting  postures.  Late  the  night  before  he  had  bought  a  tie, 
a  pair  of  gloves,  and  cuffs  from  a  hosier  in  New  Oxford 
Street  who  was  seUing  off,  and  he  thought,  as  he  surveyed 
himself  for  the  last  time  before  going  out,  that  his  appearance 
was  by  no  means  bad.  No  doubt  his  low  soft  hat  did  not 
quite  suit  the  costume :  he  would  have  to  leave  it  in  the  hall. 

He  dined  or  lunched — the  two  meals  were  generally  merged 
— for  eighteenpence  at  the  Italian  restaurant  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  where  he  was  becoming  a  well-known  if  not 
too  profitable  customer. 

He  had  no  experience  of  society  in  England,  and  he  was 
not  quite  sure  at  what  hour  calls  were  generally  paid,  but  he 
judged  that  it  could  scarcely  be  amiss  if  he  presented  him- 
self at  four.  As  it  was  still  early,  he  took  an  omnibus  to 
Hyde  Park,  where  he  intended  to  kill  some  time. 

Near  to  the  entrance  of  the  Marble  Arch,  where  he  alighted, 
he  noticed  several  little  crowds  at  a  short  distance  from  each 
other,  and  as  his  curiosity  was  piqued,  he  stopped  to  see  what 
was  taking  place.  In  the  first  group  a  man,  bareheaded,  with 
a  shaven  upper  lip  and  a  dark  beard,  was  preaching  Chris- 
tianity as  a  panacea  against  the  evil  consequences  of  sin. 
With  great  vehemence,  though  in  faulty  speech,  he  was 
flagellating   those  whose   peccant   natures  kept  them  in  the 


•6  THE  ADVENTURES 

bondage  of  the  evil  one,  and  quoting  text  on  text  to  prove 
the  value  of  repentance.  Close  to  him  in  the  next  group, 
so  close  that  their  voices  sometimes  mingled,  an  old  man, 
with  long  white  locks  and  an  emaciated  face,  who  seemed 
to  have  one  foot  in  his  grave,  was  preaching  atheism,  deny- 
ing with  as  much  warmth  as  his  neighbour  had  asserted  it 
the  truth  of  supernatural  belief,  and  acknowledging  alone 
the  evidence  of  sense.  Johns  listened  to  him  for  a  few 
moments,  but  finding  him  no  less  fanatical  than  the  evan- 
gelist, he  passed  on  to  a  third.  This  was  a  negro,  out  of 
whose  wide  mouth  poured  excited  words  of  Messianic  praise, 
delivered  with  great  gusto.  He  was  listened  to  with  marked 
attention  by  his  audience,  who  laughed  heartily  every  now  and 
then  at  his  jokes  at  the  expense  of  Satan. 

A  little  further  on,  a  socialistic  artizan  was  denouncing  capital 
and  monarchies,  the  misdeeds  of  the  rich,  the  crueltiei'.  inflicted 
on  the  poor,  and  the  tyranny  of  the  employer ;  while  almost 
back  to  back,  yet  a  little  further  down  the  walk,  a  man  in 
clerical  attire  was  preaching  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  next 
to  a  working  man  who  had  read  Comte  and  Kant  and  Hegel, 
and  who  cried,  "  The  man  who  says  as  what  there  is  a  God  is  as 
big  a  fool  as  the  man  who  says  there  ain't." 

A  strange  discordance  caused  Johns  to  turn  his  head  in  the 
direction  of  the  groups  he  had  first  seen.  The  negro's  followers 
and  those  of  the  evangelist  had  each  struck  up  a  different 
hymn,  and  the  socialistic  orator  was  shouting  at  the  top  of  a 
stentorian  voice,  trying  to  be  heard  above  the  discord.  The 
audiences  appeared  to  find  the  whole  thing  natural. 

Johns,  as  he  moved  along  across  the  park,  reflected,  "  How 
they  listen  to  any  man  who  preaches  !  It  doesn't  matter  what 
he  says  as  long  as  he  speaks  loudly.  And  I'll  bet  they're  the 
same  in  other  spheres."  He  walked  along  slowly  till  he  reached 
the  Row,  where  he  took  a  seat  for  a  few  moments  to  watch  the 
promenaders,  after  which  he  pursued  his  way  to  Princes  Gate. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  imposing  row  of  houses,  with 
their  high  facades  and  ornamented  windows,  he  cast  a  look  at 
his  attire,  which  somehow  pleased  him  less  than  a  few  hours 
previously.     Such  as  it  was,  however,  it  must  suffice. 

A  man  in  livery  opened  the  door  and  glanced  at  Johns 
somewhat  suspiciously.  *'  He  did  not  know  if  Mrs.  Dawson 
was  at  home.  He  would  enquire.  If  so,  what  name  should 
he  announce?" 

"  Say  Mr.  Johns." 

Requested  to  enter,  Johns  waited  in  a  spacious  hall. 
Presently  the  man  returned,  and,  with  more  consideration  than 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  »j 

he  had  shown  at  first,  conducted  him  to  the  drawing-room,  up 
a  monumental  staircase  with  bronze  statues  in  the  niches  of 
the  wall.  The  wife  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Planet  was  seated 
before  a  tea-table  in  a  corner  of  a  large,  square  room,  which 
seemed  to  Johns  sumptuously  furnished.  She  was  surrounded 
by  a  little  ring  of  visitors,  one  or  two  of  whom  Johns  recognised 
as  frequent  callers  at  the  office. 

With  the  air  of  grave  importance  which  he  knew  how  to 
assume  at  times,  holding  his  gloves  in  his  left  hand,  he  advanced 
leisurely  into  the  room  as  soon  as  he  had  been  announced, 

Mrs.  Dawson  received  him  cordially,  and  pointed  to  a  seat 
not  far  from  hers.  Then,  turning  to  a  thin,  young  man,  with 
longish  hair  and  a  shaven  face,  she  said,  "  You  can  continue, 
Mr.  Stevenson." 

"  The  place  of  woman  in  our  social  system,"  the  young  man 
said,  "  is  growing  more  and  more  defined.  She  is  no  longer 
an  eleemosynary,  fettered  to  the  will  of  man,  but  a  free  agent 
in  the  disposal  of  her  person  and  in  the  employment  of  her 
intellect.  Under  the  new  conditif^ns  which  are  rapidly  extend- 
ing, the  whole  fabric  of  conjugal  ethics  will  be  changed. 
Woman  will  be  man's  equal  instead  of  his  inferior.  She  will 
bring  into  the  life  of  the  family  a  co-operation  hitherto  unknown. 
She  will  be  a  second  pillar  of  the  household,  supporting  the 
same  burdens  as  her  husband.  In  this  way  there  will  be  a 
double  capital  of  will  and  intellect,  and  the  children  of  such 
marriages  must  be  the  men  and  women  who  will  guide  the 
world.  Does  it  not  stand  to  reason  that,  as  the  true  province 
of  woman  is  to  guard  and  to  protect  the  race,  she  cannot  do  so 
properly  unless  she  has  the  free  exercise  of  all  her  faculties  ? 
The  Mahommedans  have  centred  the  seat  of  understanding 
in  the  male,  and  have  assigned  a  purely  utilitarian  place  to 
women.  In  that  they  are  consistent;  but  we,  who  have 
throughout  our  system  allowed  her  to  have  a  share  with  us, 
are  we  justified  in  limiting  that  share  ?  No  ;  depend  upon  it, 
justice  will  not  be  done  until  we  have  given  her  an  equal  share 
with  us." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approbation  as  the  young  man 
finished  his  defence  of  the  woman's  cause,  and  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  The  ladies  present,  all 
fashionably  dressed  and  mostly  young,  looked  puzzled,  as  if 
they  were  not  quite  convinced. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  an  older  man,  who  looked  like  a 
professor,  "  I  think  that  Mr.  Stevenson's  remarks  are  just.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  complete  enfranchisement  of  women  is 
naturally  predestined  by  the  developmental  principle.     The 


a  THE  ADVENTURES 

position  of  women  must  inevitably  alter  as  her  capacities  are 
recognised.  How  long  she  may  have  to  wait,  however,  it  is 
difficult  to  say." 

"  I  don't  fancy  /  mind  waiting,"  said  a  lady  with  an  olive- 
tinted  skin  and  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and  the  other  ladies 
laughed. 

But  Mrs.  Dawson  asked,  "  And  what  is  your  opinion,  Mr 
Johns,  of  our  province  ?  " 

Johns  had  been  listening  attentively  to  what  was  being  said. 
Mentally  he  had  voted  the  thin  young  champion  of  the  woman's 
cause  a  fool,  and  the  man  with  the  professional  air  a  pedant. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  that,  if  his  views  were  asked,  he 
would  preach  another  kind  of  doctrine. 

So  he  said,  "  The  province  of  woman  is  above  all  things  to 
charm.  She  is  the  first  incentive  to  our  acts.  Since  man  is 
man,  we  have  hoped  and  feared  and  fought  for  her.  Her 
beauty  is  the  salt  without  which  we  could  not  live.  Her  grace 
and  charm  are  the  perfumes  which  give  zest  to  life  and  keep  us 
from  ennui.  No  one  has  imagined  anything  more  beautiful 
than  woman's  beauty,  because  nature  has  none  greater,  and  that 
beauty  is  preserved  to  us  by  giving  woman  an  exceptional 
position,  by  relieving  her  from  the  drudgery  we  do,  by  affording 
her  the  ease  and  comfort  in  which  to  cultivate  her  charms,  by 
allowing  her  to  rest  while  we  are  working,  by  placing  her  upon 
a  pedestal,  and  by  contemplating  her  delightfully  upon  it.  I 
do  not  know  what  woman's  brains  can  do,  but  I  do  know  that 
if  she  uses  them  as  we  do  ours,  she  will  lose  a  large  share  of  the 
beauty  which  we  love.  There  will  be  lines  upon  her  counte- 
nance ;  the  oval  of  her  face  will  be  impaired.  We  shall  grow 
cold  towards  her,  and  then — why,  then,  we  shall  retrogade, 
because  the  divine  spirit  of  enchantment  will  have  passed  away 
from  us.  The  poetry  which  decked  our  lives  will  have  vanished 
from  them.  The  poets,  if  there  be  any  left,  will  only  sing  of 
wisdom,  and  we  shall  come  to  hate  that  word  /  Ah  no,  the 
province  of  a  woman  is  to  bring  joy  into  the  life  of  man,  and 
you  may  depend  upon  it  she  will  be  well  employed  in  doing  so." 

Before  Johns  had  finished  speaking,  all  eyes  were  turned  upon 
him.  His  deep  voice,  the  earnest  expression  of  his  face,  and 
his  unexpected  views,  had  created  an  impression. 

The  ladies,  whom  he  had  rightly  judged,  from  their  appear- 
ance, to  be  contented  with  the  present  state  of  marriage,  clapped 
their  hands,  while  the  thin  young  man  and  the  professor 
endeavoured  to  look  sceptical. 

"  How  charming  of  you,  Mr.  Jphns,"  the  hostess  said,  "  to 
defend  our  indolence !" 


OF  TOHN  JOHNS  tg 

*'  And  how  good  of  you  to  place  us  on  a  pedestal!"  the  dark- 
eyed  lady  added. 

Johns  answered,  asking,  "  Was  I  not  especially  inspired  to 
do  that  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  Mrs.  Dawson  said,  '*  to  my  friend 
Mrs.  Weber,"  and  John  bowed  to  the  dark  lady,  who  was 
smiling  at  the  comphment  conveyed  by  his  last  words. 

But  the  thin  young  man  returned  to  his  guns,  to  the  evident 
regret  of  everyone. 

He  said,  "  We  know  this  cult  of  beauty  well.  It  softened 
the  Greeks  and  killed  the  Romans.  It  has  permanently 
demoralized  the  French.  Fortunately,  in  England  we  have 
known  how  to  give  it  the  place  it  merits.  The  future  of  society 
depends  upon  the  raising  of  the  state  of  woman." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Johns,  "  that  the  future  of  society 
depends  upon  the  maintenance  of  love." 

"  And  do  you  say  that  love  will  disappear  ?  *• 

"  I  say  that  it  will  freeze — freeze,  sir,  in  your  refrigerator." 

Again  the  ladies  laughed  approvingly,  and  the  champion  of 
their  cause,  perceiving  that  their  suffrages  by  this  time  were 
with  Johns,  gave  up  the  discussion,  and  went  on  speaking  to  the 
professor. 

Johns  was  now  introduced  to  the  other  ladies  by  Mrs. 
Dawson,  and  as  she  explained  that  he  had  lived  for  some  time 
in  Australia,  they  asked  him  questions  about  the  life  and 
manners  there,  which  he  was  naturally  well  able  to  reply  to. 

"  Australia,"  he  said,  "  is  a  land  of  adventurous  romance.  A 
man  out  there  is  rated  for  his  strength  and  pluck,  and  though 
he  may  sometimes  have  to  rough  it,  he  always  finds  a  friend  in 
need  when  his  luck's  bad.  Ah,  one  has  a  fine  sense  of  the 
intensity,  the  vigour,  the  masterfulness  of  life  when  one's  in  the 
saddle  from  morning  until  night,  in  the  thin,  pure  air.  Some- 
times I  have  almost  wished  I  had  been  born  a  native." 

Johns  had  a  power  of  investing  what  he  said  with  mterest. 
When  he  was  speaking,  the  expression  of  his  face,  the  intona- 
tion of  his  voice,  and  the  gestures  with  which  he  accompanied 
his  speech,  conspired  to  produce  an  eflfect  upon  the  hearer 
which  was  indefinable,  but  real. 

As  he  finished  his  last  phrases,  he  looked  towards  the 
window  at  the  London  clouds,  as  if  he  almost  hoped  to  find 
in  them  a  reminiscence  of  Australian  skies. 

"How  I  should  like  to  go  there ! "  said  the  young  lady, 
sighing. 

"  But  it  isn't  always  paradise,"  continued  Johns,  "for  those 
who  come  from  England.    I  remember  once  in  Queensland  a 


30  THE  ADVENTURES 

young  couple  came  into  a  little  town  where  I  was  staying. 
He  was  a  handsome  boy  of  twenty,  with  a  frank  and  manly 
face,  and  she,  a  pretty  little  bright-eyed  girl,  perhaps  a  twelve- 
month younger.  And  they  had  loved  each  other  in  an 
English  countr)'  town,  and  married,  and  had  come  to  seek  their 
fortune  in  Australia.  He  was  a  tax-collector's  son,  and  she, 
the  daughter  of  a  miller.  And  they  had  both  a  little  educa- 
tion and  some  pride.  And  he  had  spent  a  month  in  Mel- 
bourne trying  to  get  work  in  offices,  and  failed.  And  they  had 
spent  all  their  money.  And  they  would  not  beg,  and  they 
found  no  work  to  do.  Suddenly  they  disappeared  and  were  for- 
gotten, till,  one  day,  a  boy  found  a  couple  tied  together  drowned 
in  a  pool  on  the  Burnett  river.     Poor  httle  English  lovers  ! " 

"  Poor  things  ! "  the  ladies  said,  compassionately  and  in 
chorus. 

While  Johns  had  been  speaking,  he  noticed  that  the  eyes  of 
the  dark  lady  had  been  fixed  upon  him  with  that  meditative 
look  which  women  have  when  they  are  weighing  in  their  minds 
a  man's  attractiveness,  so  he  preserved  his  air  of  quiet  pathos, 
finding  it  had  been  well  received  that  afternoon.  Mentally  he 
compared  the  hostess  and  her  friend,  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  both  were  interesting. 

But  other  callers  came,  and  the  physiognomy  of  the  drawing- 
room  changed.  Johns  thought  it  time  to  retire  upon  the  good 
impression  he  had  made. 

When  he  rose  to  leave,  however,  Mrs.  Dawson  asked — 

•'  Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  my  husband?  " 

•'  I  would,  assuredly." 

"  Then  stay.  I  am  expecting  him  home  from  the  club  soon." 

Thus  invited,  Johns  asked  no  better  than  to  remain, 
especially  as  he  wanted  very  much  to  see  the  proprietor  in 
person. 

Gradually  the  room  emptied.  Mrs.  Weber,  as  she  left,  gave 
Johns  her  hand,  remarking — 

*'  We  shall  meet  again,  perhaps." 

"  I  trust  so,  most  sincerely." 

Johns  was  left  alone  with  Mrs.  Dawson,  who  said  presently — 

"  I  can't  think  what  keeps  my  husband.  He  is  generally 
back  before." 

"As  long  as  his  absence  procures  me  a  chat  with  you,  Mrs. 
Dawson,  I  shall  not  be  impatient." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  you  spoke  well  this  afternoon,  and 
1  fancy  you  made  an  impression  on  Mrs.  Weber.  I  was  quite  of 
jrour  opinion.    I'm  sure,  for  my  part,  I  think  our  lot  delightful." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  31 

"  Delightful,"  Johns  repeated,  as  he  was  fond  of  doing  when 
he  wished  to  mark  his  appreciation,  "  delightful ! " 

While  she  had  been  speaking,  he  was  saying  to  himself, 
"Thirty,  and  not  bad  looking.  A  little  coquetterie,  and  an 
old  husband.     Apparently  no  children. 

"And  do  you  still  like  the  Planet V  she  asked  presently,  as 
if  to  show  that  she  took  an  interest  in  his  career. 

Here,  he  thought,  was  his  opportunity.  Bending  forward  in 
his  chair,  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Dawson,  it  is  in  your  power  to  do  me 
a  great  service.  My  position  on  the  paper  is  untenable.  I  am 
relegated  to  the  reporters'  room  and  kept  there  almost  unem- 
ployed. Now,  I  didn't  come  over  from  Australia  for  this.  I 
must  have  a  better  place  or  leave.  And  I  should  be  sorry  to 
leave,  very  sorry,  after  this  afternoon,  when  I  have  had  so 
charming  an  opportunity  of  knowing  and  esteeming  you.  I 
have  not  been  able  to  see  Mr.  Dawson,  and  I  don't  think 
he  knows  how  I  am  being  treated.  May  I  not  count  on  your 
support  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may ;  I'll  speak  to  my  husband  this  very 
evening." 

"  Will  you  do  that  for  me  ?  Will  you  really  f  "  and  he  laid 
a  stress  of  admiration  on  the  "will "  and  *'  really." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Jlotv  good  of  you  I " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  know  how  Mr.  Boyd  is  fond  of  treating 
people." 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  Mr.  Boyd  ?  " 

"  I  mustn't  say ;  but  he  isn't  to  my  taste." 

Johns  hazarded — 

"  His  face  is  rather  red." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  significantly — "very." 

"  But  how  shall  I  thank  you,"  he  continued,  returning  to  his 
theme;  "how  shall  I  express  my  gratitude?"  and  he  looked  at 
her  with  almost  tearful  sympathy. 

She  answered,  laughing,  "  By  coming  to  see  me  on  Sunday 
afternoons." 

"  There  could  not  be  a  more  delightful  way." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  until  they  heard  the  noise  of 
a  cab  driving  up  to  the  front  door. 

She  rose  and  went  over  to  the  window. 

"Yes,  it's  he;  I'm  going  to  meet  him  in  the  hall.  Stay 
where  you  are." 

Johns,  left  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  looked  about  him  at 
the  heavy  hangings  on  the  doors  and  windows,  at  the  sumptuous 
chairs  and  lounges,  at  the  bronzes  and  the  nicknacks  00  the 


3«  THE  ADVENTURES 

shelves  and  in  the  niches.  He  thought  how  pleasant  ii  must  be 
to  be  the  owner  of  such  things,  and  to  live  one's  life  amid  such 
beautiful  surroundings  !    A  little  patience,  and  perhaps 

It  was  several  moments  before  the  husband  and  wife  ap- 
peared.    Dawson  shook  hands  with  Johns  heartily. 

"  I  read  your  article  the  other  day,"  he  said,  "  and  found  it 
good." 

Johns  expressed  his  satisfaction.  "  I  am  only  sorry,"  he 
said,  "that  it  has  not  been  the  means  of  bringing  me  more 
work.     I'm  not  given  any  work  worth  mentioning." 

Dawson  reflected  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said,  "Come 
and  see  me  to-morrow  morning,  and  I'll  try  to  put  that  right  for 
you." 

"  Thanks,"  Johns  said,  "  I  will." 

And  then,  as  it  was  growing  late,  and  Mrs.  Dawson  looked 
as  if  she  were  waiting  for  him  to  go,  he  took  leave  of  them, 
expressing  his  thanks  to  her  by  a  look  as  he  shook  hands. 

When  he  reached  the  hall,  where  the  man  handed  him 
his  hat,  there  was  a  strong  odour  of  good  cooking,  and  he 
thought,  "Why  couldn't  the  old  devil  have  invited  me  to 
dinner?" 

Still,  as  he  walked  along  towards  Hyde  Park  Corner  for  the 
second  time,  he  fancied  he  had  done  pretty  well  for  himself  that 
afternoon.  He  was  delighted  to  have  an  ally  in  Mrs.  Dawson. 
Go  to  her  "  at  homes  "  on  Sunday  ?  Of  course  he  would.  He 
would  like  to  confront  a  dozen  pale  young  men  with  theories 
about  the  enfranchisement  of  women.  "The  fool,"  he  said, 
"  as  if  any  but  ugly  women  trouble  about  their  rights !  But  I 
suppose  it  suits  his  game  to  talk  like  that.  It  suited  mine,  at 
anyrate,  to  contradict  him." 

It  was  dusk  when  he  reached  the  Corner,  and  rain  was  begin- 
ning to  fall  heavily.  This  annoyed  him,  for  his  umbrella  was 
very  full  of  holes,  and  he  had  left  his  overcoat  at  home.  There 
was  a  quickening  ot  the  trafific  and  a  rush  for  cabs  and  omni- 
busei^  and  he  stood  in  the  midst  of  it,  asking  himself  what  he 
should  do  next. 

Evidently  he  must  restore  his  inner  man,  so,  after  a  great 
deal  of  elbowing,  he  succeeded  in  conquering  a  place  in  an 
eastward-going  'bus,  which  conveyed  him  to  the  comer  of  New 
Oxford  Street.  Alighting  there,  he  took  a  sandwich  and  a 
"bock"  at  the  bar  of  a  hot-^l  in  the  vicinity  by  way  of 
dinner;  and  then,  as  the  downpour  had  abated,  he  walked 
slowly  home. 

As  he  entered  his  lodgings,  he  saw  a  light  in  the  room  of  the 
lady  who  occupied  the  ground  floor,  and  as  he  passed  her  door 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  33 

he  paused.  He  had  made  her  acquaintance  on  the  stairs  a  few 
days  previously,  and  he  thought  this  might  be  an  opportunity  of 
improving  it. 

As  he  heard  no  sound,  and  the  door  was  ajar,  he  knocked. 
A  woman's  voice  replied,  "  Come  in." 

A  fair-haired  girl  was  sitting  at  a  table  in  a  little  parlour 
divided  from  a  bedroom  by  folding  doors.  She  was  reading  by 
the  pale  light  of  a  jet  of  gas. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,"  she  said,  "  Come  in." 

He  looked  at  her  in  the  faint  light.  Her  face  was  still  fresh 
and  almost  pretty.     She  seemed  to  be  scarcely  twenty. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  said.  "  I  was  feeling  lonely  by 
myself  to-night." 

"  So  was  I,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  beside  her,  "  very." 

"  Then  we  can  console  each  other,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  I'm 
going  to  have  supper,  and  if  you  like  to  join  me " 

He  said,  "  I'd  better  tell  you  I'm  down  on  my  luck  just  now, 
and  so  it  must  be  all  for  love.     But  I'll  make  up  for  it  later." 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly  as  if  trying  to  guess  if  he  spoke 
the  truth ;  but  he  had  assumed  his  earnest  air,  and,  apparently 
convinced,  she  said,  "  So  many  gentlemen  are  like  that !  But 
it  doesn't  matter  if  you  like  to  stay." 

He  supped  with  her,  and  it  was  daylight  before  he  left. 


a. 


CHAPTER 
THIRD 

WHEN  Johns  asked  to  see  Dawson  the  next  morning  at 
the  office,  he  was  admitted  almost  instantly  to  the 
private  room,  and  the  proprietor  received  him  much  more 
cordially  than  on  his  former  visit. 

"So  you  want  to  push  on,  I  hear,"  he  said,  scrutinizing  him 
as  if  he  had  not  seen  him  properly  before. 

"That  is  my  wish,  most  certainly." 

"Well,  you  can  easily  understand  that  we  can't  give  you 
leaders  to  do  every  day,  whether  you  are  able  or  not  to  do 
them.  There  are  other  men  to  be  considered.  But,  if  you 
care  to  stick  to  the  reporting  for  the  present,  I'll  see  that  you 
get  more  of  it  in  future.  I've  already  spoken  to  Mr.  Boyd 
about  you." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I'm  ready  to  do  anything  on  earth.  I'll  do 
the  reporting,  and  I  prophesy  that  you'll  soon  find  it  to  your 
advantage  to  give  me  better  work." 

"  Good,"  said  Dawson ;  "  we  shall  see." 

Johns  now  entered  the  reporters'  room  with  a  different 
feeling  to  that  which  he  had  hitherto  experienced,  and  he  said 
to  Maskelyne  carelessly,  in  the  hearing  of  the  others,  "  It's  all 
right  now,  I've  just  seen  Dawson." 

And  the  work  was  not  long  coming,  for  the  same  morning 
Tarte,  in  apportioning  the  tasks  by  the  editor's  instructions, 
told  Johns  he  was  to  interview  a  French  exiled  politician. 
Johns,  who  was  a  good  French  scholar,  managed,  by  applying 
the  hints  he  had  obtained  from  Maskelyne,  and  by  exercising 
ingenuity,  to  obtain  an  interview,  to  write  an  account  of  his 
conversation  which  was  fairly  creditable,  although  it  contained 
one  or  two  errors  of  inexperience,  which  Boyd  corrected  with 
something  like  an  oath  when  Johns  handed  him  the  "copy." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  35 

A  few  mornings  afterwards,  when  he  reached  the  office,  a 
letter  was  awaiting  him.  On  opening  it,  he  found  that  it 
was  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Dawson  to  dinner  for  the  next 
evening. 

At  first,  the  sight  of  the  card  containing  a  few  words  in  a 
large  handwriting  in  which  the  wife  of  the  proprietor  "  hoped 
he  would  be  able  to  come,"  filled  him  with  delight ;  but  when 
he  reflected  a  moment  afterwards  that  he  would  have  to  find 
a  suit  of  clothes  for  the  occasion,  his  joy  was  somewhat  marred. 
He  could  not  go  to  the  Strand  tailors  again,  and  to  buy  all  the 
articles  he  wanted  outright  was  impossible,  seeing  that  he 
would  not  be  paid  for  a  week  or  more,  and  that  Dawson  never 
allowed  advances.  Well,  he  would  get  out  of  that  difficulty, 
he  supposed,  somehow,  and  if  it  came  to  the  worst,  he  would 
have  to  hire  the  apparel  for  the  evening. 

He  found  Maskelyne  in  the  reporters'  room,  and  handed 
him  the  note  he  had  just  received.  When  Maskelyne  read  it, 
he  exclaimed,  "Lucky  person,"  and  turning  to  the  reporters, 
said,  "  Here's  a  man  who  hasn't  been  on  the  paper  a  month,  and 
he's  invited  to  dine  with  the  Dawsons."  The  two  scribes  who 
were  in  the  room  glanced  at  Johns  with  a  half  indifferent,  half 
antagonistic  look — one  of  those  looks  which  drudges  have  for 
those  who  rise  above  them. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Johns,  "if  Maskelyne  possesses  a  dress 
suit.  Yes,  he  must,  else  how  could  he  report  banquets  ?"  But 
when  he  measured  him  with  a  rapid  glance,  he  soon  decided 
that  the  reporter  not  only  was  too  tall,  but  also  much  too  thin 
foi  there  to  be  any  likelihood  of  his  clothes  fitting  him.  Besides, 
to  have  borrowed  from  him  would  have  exposed  the  bareness 
of  the  land,  and  he  thought  that  it  was  unwise  to  be  too  frank 
about  one's  means.  Another  combination  must  be  found,  and 
he  resolved  to  seek  it. 

The  next  morning,  having  discovered  no  solution  to  the 
problem,  he  explored  the  shops  in  the  vicinity  of  Covent  Garden 
until  he  found  a  costumier  who,  for  the  deposit  of  a  pound — the 
last  he  had  left — supplied  him  with  a  complete  outfit,  exclusive 
of  a  shirt,  which  he  was  forced  to  buy  at  a  hosier's  in  the  Strand, 
thus  reducing  his  resources  to  a  perilously  low  ebb.  He  was 
slightly  comforted,  however,  by  the  reflection  that  he  was 
owed  a  little  money  by  the  paper :  he  must  manage  to  hold 
out  on  half  rations  until  it  became  due.  In  the  evening,  after 
his  work  was  over,  he  called  for  his  parcels  and  carried  them  to 
Grafton  Street. 

Many  times  after  he  had  dressed  that  evening,  he  surveyed 
himself  in  the  little  looking-glass  which  had  lost  a  portion  of  its 


36  THE  ADVENTURES 

plating.  The  coat  shone,  and  was  rather  tight  in  several  places, 
but  rub  the  shoes  as  he  might,  he  could  not  make  the  patent 
leather  shine,  and  yet,  the  general  effect,  he  thought,  was  good. 
By  gas-light  it  might  pass  muster.  He  deemed  himself  pre- 
sentable. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  put  on  a  dress  coat,  and  he 
flattered  himself  that  no  one  could  ever  have  guessed  the  fact. 
"  I  shall  betaken  for  a  rich  man  indifferent  about  his  dress,"  he 
thought.  "  As  to  the  women,  I  don't  believe  they  care  a  fig 
how  a  man  dresses — if  he  pleases  them." 

By  a  succession  of  omnibus  routes,  which  he  was  obliged  to 
take  to  avoid  soiling  his  shoes,  he  arrived  at  Princes  Gate  at  a 
little  before  eight,  and  was  shown  at  once  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

The  hostess,  in  black  satin,  received  him  almost  as  an  old 
acquaintance. 

There  were  few  people  in  the  room,  and  she  was  speaking  to 
Boyd,  who  appeared  surprised  when  he  saw  Johns. 

She  said,  "  Mr.  Boyd,  I  need  not  introduce  Mr.  Johns  to 
you.  By  this  time,  I  am  quite  sure,  he  is  not  only  a  colleague 
but  a  friend." 

Boyd  tried  to  smile,  and  said,  with  some  consideration, 
"Good  evening,  Mr.  Johns.     We  meet  again." 

Johns  thought,  "To  your  disgust,  my  friend,"  but  he 
said,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Dawson,  "Yes,  and  under  charming 
auspices." 

Dawson  himself  came  up  at  this  juncture,  and  Johns  shook 
hands  with  him. 

Then,  as  the  hostess  was  busy  receiving  fresh  arrivals,  he 
crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  where  he  had  noticed 
Mrs.  Weber  sitting. 

"I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "if  you  would  remember  me." 

"My  memory  would  have  been  abominable  if  I  had  not,"  he 
answered. 

"  Do  you  know  many  of  the  people  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Scarcely  any  of  them ;  pray  tell  me  who  they  are." 

"Well,  there  is  a  rather  curious  medley  of  letters  and  finance, 
and  law  and  poHtics.  Mrs.  Dawson  likes  to  have  her  dinner- 
table  well  divided.  And  I  think  she's  right.  One  element 
tones  the  other  down.     Do  you  see  that  couple  coming  in  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  the  member  for  North  Aldgate  and  his  wife,  nee  the 
Honourable  Sophia  Curton.  I  never  understood  how  they 
settle  their  politics,  but  they  manage  to  get  along  very  well 
apparently.     He's  a  great  man  among  the  radicals." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  37 

Johns  said,  "  I'll  make  a  point  of  speiking  to  them.  I've 
written  about  that  gentleman ;  his  name  is  Parker." 

"  Then,  that  little  man  yonder  who  looks  contented  with 
himself  is  a  socialist — not  of  the  desperate  type,  you  know — 
an  artistic  and  luxurious  socialist.  Another  contradiction  as 
you  see.  Then,  the  thin  lady  in  green  velvet  is  a  journalist  or 
a  literary  lady  of  some  sort.     Do  you  like  literary  ladies  ?  " 

**  Are  you  literary  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

'*  Then,  I  don't  mind  confessmg  that  I  cannot  bear  them." 

Mrs.  Weber  laughed,  showing  a  set  of  pearly  teeth. 

"  Near  them  on  the  right,"  she  said,  "  is  Mr,  Stevenson,  the 
young  man  whom  you  rather  sat  upon  the  other  day.  He's 
the  editor  of  a  paper  called  The  Woman's  Cause,  and  is 
considered  clever  in  his  way,  although  you  mayn't  think  so." 

"I  do,  I  do,  exceedingly." 

"  Sarcastic  ?  " 

"  Never." 

The  dinner  was  announced. 

She  said,  **  It's  your  duty  to  take  me  down.  Lucy  told  me 
so." 

He  answered,  offering  his  arm,  "How  shall  I  thank  her  for 
that  privilege  ?  " 

In  the  long  picture-gallery  dining-room  they  were  seated  near 
the  end  at  which  Mrs.  Dawson  was  presiding.  Opposite  to 
them,  the  member  for  North  Aldgate  was  seated  next  the  lady 
journalist.  On  the  right  of  the  hostess  was  the  socialist- 
capitalist,  and  on  her  left  a  gentleman  whom  Mrs.  Weber 
whispered  was  a  magnate  in  the  city. 

Johns  calculated  rapidly  the  advantages  he  might  derive  from 
his  environment,  while  he  surveyed  his  neighbour's  charms, 
which  seemed  to  him  seductive.  He  looked  also  at  the  menu, 
which  was  a  lengthy  one,  and  he  judged  that  the  dinner  would 
last  long.  All  the  more  chance  of  an  opportunity  arriving  of 
making  himself  heard.  In  the  meantime  he  would  devote 
himself  to  Mrs,  Weber,  who  was  listening,  with  evident  ennui, 
to  the  desultory  remarks  of  a  young  man  on  her  left. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said  to  her,  almost  in  an  undertone, 
"  that  I  have  known  you  so  long,  so  very  long,  and  yet  it's 
only  a  few  days  !  You  struck  me  as  being  a  woman  who 
took  a  sympathetic  interest  m  life,  and  I  told  myself  that  you 
possessed  one  of  those  rich,  warm  natures  of  which  there  are 
too  few." 

"  Indeed  ?    And  is  your  nature  like  the  one  you  give  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  sister  nature,  surely." 


38  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Are  you  often  serious,  Mr.  Johns  ?  " 

"  I  never  was  more  serious.  Ah !  Mrs.  Weber,  when  you 
come  to  know  me  better,  you  will  find  that  I  can  be  deeply 
earnest." 

She  said,  "You  must  be  interesting  so;  indeed,  I'm  not  sure 
that  you're  not  interesting  now." 

He  looked  at  the  well-moulded  arms  and  at  the  fingers  which, 
in  the  soft  light  from  the  electric  lamps,  took  a  golden  colour- 
ing, then  at  the  faultless  curve  of  the  neck  and  shoulders,  and 
he  thought  for  the  second  time,  "  delicious." 

He  said,  "How  well  you  heal  the  wounds  which  you 
inflict ! " 

She  answered,  "  How  prettily  you  dress  your  compliments." 

Presently  he  asked,  "  Which  of  the  guests  is  that  fortunate 
man,  your  husband  ?  " 

She  looked  down  gravely  at  her  plate. 

"  My  husband  died  two  years  ago." 

He  had  asked  the  question  to  elicit  a  piece  of  information, 
and  he  said,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  not  know.  I  cannot 
forgive  myself  for  making  you  look  sad." 

She  answered,  "  Yes,  you  should  have  ascertained  before  you 
spoke." 

He  thought,  "  She's  a  little  woman  liable  to  turn  round  on 
one,"  and  he  gave  a  sympathetic  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
hostess,  lest  she  should  think  he  had  forgotten  her. 

But  the  member  opposite  was  having  a  discussion  with  the 
lady  journalist  upon  the  subject  of  education,  and  Johns  at 
once  listened. 

"  Your  bill,"  the  lady  said,  "  is  too  ambitious,  too  gigantic. 
What  you  want  to  do  in  one  reform  will  require  half  a  dozen, 
and  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  it  ever  will  be  done  at  all.  A 
century  hence  perhaps  it  may." 

She  punctuated  the  enunciation  of  her  opinions  with  a 
short  nod,  which  gave  her  the  air  of  a  marionette. 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Noakes,  my  bill  is  above  all  things 
practical.  There  is  not  a  single  clause  in  it  which  cannot 
be  applied  in  the  present  day,  at  the  present  hour.  It  is 
meant  to  suppress  the  abuses  of  the  present  system,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  extend  the  scope  of  education.  In  the 
Planet  there  was  an  article  a  little  while  ago  which  put  the 
case  for  higher  education  better  than  I  have  ever  seen  it 
put  before.  It  said  that  the  state  of  public  education  was 
the  barometer  of  the  nation's  progress,  and  that  to  prevent 
the  mercury  from  rising  was  to  defy  a  law  of  nature.  I  must 
ask  Mr.  Dawson  who  wrote  that  article." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  39 

Johns  thought  this  was  his  opportunity. 

*'  That  article  was  mine." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  poHtician,  looking  at  Johns  through  his 
glasses,  "  then  I  congratulate  you,  sincerely." 

And  as  it  happened  there  was  a  lull  in  the  conversation 
at  that  moment,  the  congratulation  was  heard  by  everybody, 
even  by  Dawson  at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

Wishing  to  make  use  of  so  good  a  chance  of  being  heard, 
Johns  continued — 

**  Public  education,  as  your  admirable  bill  regards  it,  and  as 
I,  too,  conceive  it,  should  not  mean  the  teaching  of  mere 
elements.  It  should  be,  to  use  a  metaphor,  the  sowing  of  the 
finest  seed  broadcast.  It  is  from  the  lower  strata  of  society 
that  those  great  rude  minds  have  sprung  which  have  left 
their  stamp  indelibly  on  history.  There  is  a  vigour  in  the 
minds  of  children  whose  parents  have  led  lives  of  toil. 
Their  constitution  is  robust  and  their  brains  are  virgin  soil, 
often  of  the  richest  quality.  In  the  higher  ranks,  where 
education  has  exhausted  itself  for  generations,  the  soil  is 
weakened  and  impoverished,  the  vital  force  is  failing.  If 
you  wish  to  bring  forth  all  that  the  English  brain  can  yield, 
you  must  open  the  gates  of  higher  education  to  the  democracy. 
Then  you  will  be  certain  that  no  capacities  are  lost,  that  the 
best  brains  among  the  forty  millions  of  inhabitants  will 
come  to  the  front  to  advance  the  work  of  progress.  That 
principle  is  unassailable.  It  is  natural.  It  cannot  long  be 
stifled  by  the  egotism  of  conservative  opinion." 

This  little  speech,  pronounced  in  Johns'  penetrating  voice, 
produced  a  considerable  effect,  and  he  fancied  that  he  heard 
"  who's  that  ?  "  whispered  in  several  quarters. 

Dawson  at  anyrate  smiled  appreciatively  from  the  bottom 
of  the  table. 

The  member  said,  "  Your  ideas  exactly  coincide  with  mine. 
I'm  glad  to  have  had  an  opportunity  of  meeting  you." 

But  the  lady  journalist,  who  was  of  another  way  of  thinking, 
said,  in  her  nasal  voice,  "  Your  theory  is  quite  against  statistics. 
It  has  been  shown  conclusively  that  the  children  of  the 
working  classes  give  very  poor  results  for  the  money  which  is 
spent  in  educating  them — very  poor  results  indeed." 

But  Johns,  having  obtained  the  effect  he  wanted,  and  seeing 
that  no  one  took  much  notice  of  the  thin  lady  in  peacock 
green,  contented  himself  with  smiling  and  not  answering. 

Presently,  however,  when  Mrs.  Dawson  said,  "  You  are  quite 
an  authority  on  education,  Mr.  Johns,"  he  thought  that  a  little 
show  of  modesty  would  not  now  be  out  of  place.     So  he 


40  THE  ADVENTURES 

replied,  "  Oh !  my  contributions  to  the  subject  have  hitherto 
been  slight." 

"  But  I  hope,"  interposed  the  member,  "  that  in  future  they 
will  be  more  numerous." 

"  That  depends  more  upon  others  than  upon  myself,''  Johns 
said,  glancing  in  the  direction  of  Boyd,  who  was  sipping  his 
champagne  discontentedly  at  the  other  end  of  the  long 
table. 

Mrs.  Weber,  who  had  been  hstening  to  the  discussion  with  a 
smile,  said  to  Johns  as  soon  as  the  conversation  became  general 
again,  "  And  do  you  really  beUeve  all  those  fine  things  about 
the  democratic  intellect  ?  " 

"  Oh,  absolutely." 

"  Yes,  but  really,  truly  ?  You  needn't  be  afraid  to  tell  me. 
No  one's  listening." 

Johns  thought,  **  Smart  little  woman,"  but  repeated  gravely, 
"  Absolutely." 

"  I  don't  believe  you." 

"  Oh,  how  incredulous  ! " 

"  Yes,  I  own  I  am  as  incredulous  as  you  are  discreet." 

Johns  smiled  enigmatically,  and  looked  at  the  roses  which 
decked  the  table,  saying  to  himself,  "  Perhaps  she's  met  my 
type  before,"  and  he  could  not  help  admitting  that  the  widow 
was  rather  puzzling. 

'*  You're  very  silent,"  she  said  presently. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  replied,  "  that  you  remind  me  of  one 
of  those  figures  in  t-he  Table  of  Cebes  which  no  one  could 
identify  at  first  sight,  but  which  represented  an  allegory.  I 
wonder  what  you  represent  ?  " 

"  You  must  study  me,  and  find  out  for  yourself." 

But,  as  Johns  anticipated,  the  dinner,  which  he  found 
excellent,  lasted  a  long  time,  and  he  began  to  regret  that  no 
other  opportunity  had  come  to  him  of  making  himself  heard. 
He  wished  he  had  spoken  longer  while  he  had  the  ear  of  the 
whole  table.  Still,  perhaps  he  should  not  grumble.  He  had 
astonished  Boyd,  of  that  he  was  quite  sure.  His  attention, 
however,  was  diverted  from  these  considerations  by  a  discussion 
between  the  socialist  and  the  financial  baron. 

The  baron  said,  "  If  your  theories  had  been  applied  yester- 
day, you  would  not  be  sitting  here  this  evening,  you  would  not 
have  had  an  extra  suit  to  come  in,  you  would  be  taking  soup 
in  the  free  larder  of  the  State." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  the  socialist  replied,  commiseratingly,  "  you 
have  ideas  of  socialism  of  fifty  years  ago,  when  it  was  thought 
we  wanted  to  divide  all  property  among  the  population.     Of 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  41 

course,  that's  nonsense,  and  you  might  credit  us  with  a  little 
more  intelligence.  No,  what  we  want  to  do  is  in  the  direction 
of  reform.  We  want  to  abolish  all  extravagance  in  government. 
We  want  to  reduce  high  salaries.     We  want  to  clip  your  wings." 

The  baron  looked  around  the  table. 

"  Is  there  any  one  here,"  he  asked,  "  who  wants  to  have  his 
income  reduced  by  Mr.  Brewer's  method  ?  " 

There  was  a  laugh,  and  a  general  murmur  of  dissent. 

Addressing  the  socialist,  Johns  said,  "  In  your  theories, 
which  I  know  well,  you  underrate  the  worth  of  that  little 
quality  of  brain  which  happens  to  be  a  gift  of  nature.  Of 
course,  we,  as  good  radicals,  are  desirous  that  the  democracy 
should  have  all  possible  advantages,  but  if  you  limit  the 
rewards  for  the  best  brains,  you  prevent  them  from  making 
their  best  efforts." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  baron  ;  "  that  is  exactly  what  I  think — 
what  we  aM  think,  really." 

"  Comfort  yourselves,  then,  with  that  thought,"  said  the 
socialist,  *'  and  go  on  living  in  your  paradise  of  misconceptions. 
This  is  not  the  place  for  me  to  refute  you,  as  I  could  ;  but  I 
will  send  you  both  a  copy  of  my  book,  although  I  know  that 
there  is  no  remedy  for  egoism." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Johns  ;  "  I  will  read  it  with  avidity." 

The  socialist  smiled  feebly,  and  went  on  speaking  to  the 
hostess. 

"  I  don't  think  you're  likely  to  be  convinced,"  said  Mrs. 
Weber. 

Johns  answered  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  don't  fancy  there's  much 
chance  of  it,"  and  they  exchanged  a  look  of  quick  intelligence, 
a  look  which  meant,  "  We  understand  each  other." 

As  soon  as  the  dessert  had  been  discussed,  Mrs.  Dawson 
rose,  and  the  ladies  left  in  the  solemn  Indian  file  peculiar  to 
English  dinner  parties. 

Johns,  as  soon  as  they  had  left,  moved  round  to  where  Boyd 
was  sitting,  thinking  that  he  would  lose  nothing  by  endeavour- 
ing to  propitiate  the  chief. 

"  Mr.  Boyd,"  he  ventured,  "  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you  here. 
In  the  office  our  interviews  are  necessarily  short,  and  we  have 
no  opportunity  of  getting  to  know  each  other." 

Boyd,  who  was  unprepared  for  this,  and  whose  face  denoted 
that  he  had  done  justice  to  his  host's  vintages,  looked 
embarrassed,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  in  the  house  of  the 
proprietor  he  was  bound  to  treat  Johns  with  some  consideration. 
He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  awkwardly,  "  Oh, 
yes.     Thanks " 


4«  THE  ADVENTURES 

But  Dawson,  who  had  been  listening,  struck  in,  "  All  right, 
Mr.  Johns.  We  won't  make  you  hide  your  light,  you  may 
depend  upon  it." 

This  was  all  that  Johns  could  wish.  He  thanked  Dawson, 
and,  without  troubling  more  about  Boyd,  listened  to  a  renewed 
discussion  between  the  socialist  and  the  financier  without 
joining  in  it,  for  he  preferred  to  speak  when  there  were  ladies 
present,  finding  that  he  succeeded  better  then. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  the  drawing-room,  shortly  afterwards, 
Johns  said,  regretfully,  to  Mrs.  Dawson,  who  was  standing  near 
the  door — 

"  You  were  so  far  away  at  dinner  that  I  could  not  speak  to 
you." 

She  answered,  "I  don't  think  you  minded  much  —  you 
seemed  to  be  quite  happily  engaged." 

"  But  happiness  is  apt  to  be  so  relative  !" 

She  laughed  and  hurried  off. 

Johns  now  surveyed  the  room.  The  lady  journalist  was 
looking  engagingly  in  his  direction,  but  as  she  belonged  to  a 
category  for  whom  he  had  no  taste,  who  didn't  enter  into  his 
combinations,  and  who  seemed  to  him  unprofitable,  he  decided 
that  he  would  waste  no  time  in  speaking  to  her. 

As  he  was  looking  round,  he  suddenly  perceived  that  the 
lady  whom  he  had  met  before — the  bejewelled  lady  of  the 
Berkeley — was  making  a  sign  to  him  to  come  to  her. 

She  was  talking  to  three  other  ladies,  and  her  daughter  was 
by  her  side. 

"  We  want  to  beg  of  you,"  she  said,  "to  give  us  another  of 
those  pretty  little  stories  about  Australia  like  the  one  you  told 
us  here  the  other  day.  I'm  quite  sure  you  must  know  some 
more." 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  Johns  answered, 
and  he  told  them  a  fresh  tale.  He  told  it  with  humour  and 
a  little  pathos,  and  when  he  finished  he  was  thanked  enthusias- 
tically. A  little  circle  had  gathered  round  him,  and  he  gave 
them  another  story,  and  yet  another,  until  he  declared  that  he 
could  tell  no  more  that  evening. 

Then,  as  he  perceived  Mrs.  Weber  sipping  tea  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room,  and  as  he  thought  he  had  produced  a  suffi- 
ciently good  effect,  he  excused  himself  and  crossed  to  where 
the  widow  sat. 

"  So  you  felt  no  curiosity  to  hear  my  little  stories  ?" 

"  I  heard  them  quite  well  from  here.  What  curious  experi- 
ences you  must  have  had ! " 

**  But  I  did  not  say  they  were  mine." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  43 

"  No,  but  I  guessed  they  were." 

Johns  was  taken  aback,  and  for  a  moment  almost  discon- 
certed. The  way  in  which  this  little  woman  seemed  to  pene- 
trate his  motives  gave  him  a  feeling  of  insecurity  he  scarcely 
liked. 

"  Even  to  please  you,^^  he  said,  "  I  could  not  father  them  !" 

"  No  ? — Oh,  you  will  some  day.  When  are  you  coming  to 
see  me  at  Carsdale  Mansions?" 

"  Not  later  than  to-morrow,  if  you  will  be  at  home," 

•'  Yes,  after  four." 

"  I'll  come." 

Their  talk  was  interrupted  after  this  by  a  succession  of  duets 
played  by  two  "professionals"  who  had  appeared  suddenly 
upon  the  scene,  and  Johns  had  no  other  opportunity  of  saying 
much  to  Mrs.  Weber;  but  twice,  when  their  eyes  met,  he 
noticed  that  she  looked  down  quickly — once  with  a  little  smile. 
Johns  thought,  "  She's  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  room.  I'll 
call  at  Carsdale  Mansions." 

When  the  party  broke  up,  shortly  before  midnight,  Johns 
waited  till  the  hostess,  having  taken  leave  of  most  of  her  guests, 
was  standing  on  the  landing  outside  the  drawing-room  door. 
Seeing  his  opportunity,  he  glided  quickly  up  to  her  and  asked, 
"  When  can  I  come  and  have  a  chat  with  you  ?  I  would  so 
much  like  to  come  some  day  when  you  are  free — I  mean,  when 
you  are  not  receiving." 

He  fancied  that  the  colour  of  her  face  heightened  as  she 
answered — 

"  Come  and  lunch  with  me,  then,  to-morrow." 

"  How  kind  of  you  !" 

He  pressed  her  hand  warmly  as  he  parted  with  her  to  express 
his  gratitude,  and  descended  the  staircase  thinking  that  his 
evening  had  not  been  spent  in  vain. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  house,  a  lady  in  a  hansom,  which  was 
just  starting,  gave  him  a  little  nod,  and  recognising  Mrs.  Weber, 
though  her  face  was  partly  hidden  by  a  lace  mantilla,  he  made 
her  a  profound  bow. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  started  on  his  walk  home,  "  it's  been  a 
good  evening,  and  if  I  don't  turn  it  to  account,  it  won't  be  my 
fault." 

An  hour's  walk  through  the  moonlit  streets,  still  somewhat 
animated,  brought  him  home  again ;  and  as  he  entered  his 
abode,  he  noticed  that  there  was  no  light  in  Maggie's  room. 

"Still  out,  I  suppose,"  he  said;  "bad  trade  that — deuced 
bad ;"  and  he  climbed  the  three  flights  quickly  to  his  room. 

As  he  undressed  he  folded  the  dress  clothes  a»  carefully  as 


44  THE  ADVENTURES 

if  they  had  been  his  own,  for  he  attributed  a  share  of  his  success 
that  evening  to  them.  They,  he  thought,  had  made  him  accept- 
able and  he  them.  In  bed  he  remained  awake  for  some  time, 
thinking  of  the  two  women  to  whom  he  had  spoken  most,  and 
forming  a  plan  of  action  for  the  morrow.  He  must  make  an 
ally  of  Mrs.  Dawson,  no  matter  by  what  means,  and  as  for  her 
friend,  the  widow,  he  must  find  out  exactly  who  she  was,  and 
shape  his  course  accordingly.  At  all  events  she  was  the  smartest 
and  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  room,  and  he  went  to  sleep 
with  that  conviction  in  his  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  walked  into  the  office  with  a  loftier 
air  than  he  had  assumed  before,  and  instead  of  mounting 
to  the  reporters'  room,  he  sought  that  of  Tarte. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Tarte,"  he  said,  "  since  yesterday  my 
position  has  considerably  changed.  I  was  dining  last  night  at 
the  Dawsons',  and  I  had  a  talk  with  Dawson  and  with  Boyd. 
It  was  understood  that  my  present  place  upon  the  paper  was 
only  to  be  temporary.  Now,  while  it  is  being  decided  what 
I  am  to  do,  I  want  you  to  let  me  sit  here  at  your  table. 
There's  room  enough  for  two,  and  as  I  told  you  before, 
you'll  not  regret  it  if  you  do  me  a  good  turn  ! " 

Tarte  answered,  "  When  Napoleon  wished  the  State  to  give 
him  anything,  he  thought  it  best  to  take  it  first.  In  journalism 
that  is  an  admirable  system,  and  it  ought  to  lead  you  far. 
Had  I  adopted  it  I  should  now  perhaps  be  editing  the  Times ; 
but  it  was  not  in  my  nature.  You,  young  man,  seem  to  me 
possessed  of  the  spirit  which  I,  alas,  did  not  inherit.  I  thought, 
when  I  was  young,  of  such  abstract  things  as  philanthropy, 
simplicity,  sobriety,  while  you,  my  friend,  are  wiser,  and  only 
trouble  about  Johns.  Yes,  you  can  sit  here  j  I  want  to  watch 
you." 

"  Rum  old  chap,"  thought  Johns,  as  he  divested  a  chair  of 
its  pile  of  papers  and  installed  himself  at  Tarte's  writing- 
table  ;  "  at  all  events  he's  useful." 

"You  won't  see  Dawson  to-day,"  said  Tarte;  "he's  going 
to  Manchester  this  morning,  and  Boyd  has  come  to  the  office 
in  a  demoniacal  temper.  He's  already  vented  some  of  it  on 
me ;  but  I'm  old  and  tough,  and  it  fell  like  water  on  a  duck's 
back.  His  dinner  last  night  doesn't  seem  to  have  agreed  with 
him." 

Johns,  resisting  the  temptation  of  seeking  Maskelyne  to  give 
him  an  account  of  the  Dawsons'  dinner  party  because  he 
thought  that  to  do  so  would  be  trivial,  passed  the  morning  in 
Tarte's  room,  preparing  a  fresh  article  on  education,  which  was 
to  be  an  impeachment  of  the  prevailing  system. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  45 

Then,  when  the  time  arrived,  he  left  for  Princes  Gate  by 
'bus. 

The  first  words  which  Mrs.  Dawson  said  to  him,  as  he  came 
into  the  room,  were — 

"I've  been  terribly  disappointed.  I  had  asked  one  of 
those  young  ladies  whom  you  met  last  night,  and  only  five 
minutes  ago  I  had  a  telegram  from  her  to  tell  me  that 
she  could  not  come." 

Johns  thought,  "  I  wonder  if  that's  true,"  and  he  said,  "  How 
gladly  I  can  dispense  with  any  other  company  ! " 

"  Yes,  but  in  this  way  I  am  receiving  you  alone." 

'*  And  is  that  so  very  wrong  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know.     I'm  almost  afraid  it  is." 

Again  Johns  thought,  "I  wonder  if  that's  true." 

He  said,  "  I  would  be  very  loath  to  forego  the  pleasure  ; 
but,  of  course,  if  you  really  think  that " 

"  Oh,  no.  It's  not  so  bad  as  that.  Now  you  have  come  so 
far,  you  certainly  must  stay." 

Johns  bowed. 

"  Come  and  look  at  my  canaries,"  she  said  aftsr  a  moment, 
and,  leaving  the  drawing-room,  she  led  him  to  the  recess  upon 
the  landing,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a  large  cage  filled 
with  little  golden-feathered  birds  who  were  chirping  merrily 
while  basking  in  the  ray  of  sunshine  that  streamed  through  the 
high  staircase  window. 

"  Are  they  not  sweet  ? "  she  said,  in  a  girlish  tone,  which 
scarcely  seemed  to  suit  her.  "  Unfortunately  the  mortality 
among  them  is  quite  dreadful,  and  I  am  constantly  finding, 
when  I  come  down  in  the  morning,  one  of  the  little  dears  at 
the  bottom  of  the  cage  upon  his  back.  It  makes  me  feel 
quite  sad." 

"Ah  yes,"  said  Johns,  "we  must  always  suffer  for  our 
feelings !  The  people  who  are  happiest  are  those  who  have 
those  flinty  hearts  so  common  nowadays." 

"You  are  not  one  of  them,  I  hope." 

"Can  you  ask  that  question?"  and  he  assumed  a  look 
which  was  so  sorrowful  and  earnest  that  Mrs.  Dawson  ex- 
pressed herself  convinced. 

Presently  a  servant  came  to  announce  the  lunch,  and  Johns 
led  his  hostess  to  the  dining-room. 

"You  see  what  it  is  to  have  no  family,"  she  said,  as  they 
were  sitting  down,  "  when  my  husband  is  away  I'm  quite  alone." 

Johns  answered  sympathetically,  "And  have  you  then  no 
family?" 

"  No,  noruB." 


46  THE  ADVENTURES 

During  the  lunch,  as  the  presence  of  the  servants  somewhat 
disconcerted  him,  and  as  Mrs.  Dawson  seemed  to  wish  it, 
Johns  spoke  chiefly  of  passing  topics.  He  felt  relieved  when 
the  meal  was  over  and  they  went  back  to  the  drawing-room. 

She  took  a  seat  on  a  long  divan-like  sofa,  and  Johns,  with- 
out waiting  to  be  asked,  sat  next  to  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  at  once,  "  I've  already  spoken  to 
my  husband  about  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  knew  from  what  he  said  to  me  the  other  day  that 
my  good  angel  had  interceded  for  me.  Will  you  allow  me  to 
call  you  my  good  angel  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dawson  laughed,  and  Johns  continued — 

"  And  now  I  feel  that  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  !  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  thanks.  I  consider  it  a  duty  to  defend 
any  one  against  Mr.  Boyd." 

"  What  a  curious  individual  he  is  !  Pray  tell  me  what  you 
know  about  him." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  know  more  than  you,  only  I'm  quite 
sure  that  I  don't  like  tyrants.  Besides,  a  man  who's  seldom 
sober  does  not  seem  fit  to  be  an  editor.  I  tell  my  husband  so, 
but  he's  afraid  to  part  with  him,  lest  the  circulation  should 
diminish." 

"  He'll  have  to  go  some  day,"  said  Johns ;  *'  it's  only  a 
question  of  time ;"  and  he  thought,  "  If  I  could  get  his 
place ! " 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  Mrs.  Dawson,  find- 
ing that  there  was  too  much  light,  rose  and  drew  down  a 
blind. 

"  You  haven't  told  me,"  she  said,  as  she  resumed  ner  seat, 
**  what  you  think  of  Mrs.  Weber." 

Johns  answered,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  nas  not  quite  made 
up  his  mind — 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  Mrs.  Weber's  interesting,  and  on  the  whole, 
I  fancy,  not  bad  looking." 

"  You're  rather  lukewarm  in  your  praise,  and  yet  I  thought 
you  seemed  impressed." 

"Scarcely  that,"  he  answered,  adding  carelessly,  "who  is 
Mrs.  Weber,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Weber  is  the  widow  of  a  German  military  attach^  who 
died  a  few  years  ago,  without,  I'm  afraid,  leaving  her  very  well 
provided  for.     She  lives  in  a  little  flat  in  Westminster." 

"  Ah  yes,"  Johns  said,  as  if  he  had  received  a  piece  of 
information  which  was  of  dubious  interest,  "  it's  unfortunate." 

Then,  suddenly  turning  round  and  facing  her  as  if  he  were 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  exclaimed,  "Do  you  know, 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  47 

iea.r  Mrs,  Dawson,  the  first  time  I  saw  you  at  the  hotel  I  was 
reminded  of  those  Hnes  from  Haidee ; — 

"  Her  brow  was  white  and  low,  her  cheeks'  pure  dye 
Like  twilights  rosy  still  with  the  set  sun ; 

Short  upper  lip — sweet  lips  !  that  make  us  sigh 
Ever  to  have  seen  such ;   for  she  was  one 

Fit  for  the  model  of  a  statuary." 

They  were  Hnes  which  he  had  used  successfully  many  a  time 
before  to  farmers'  daughters  in  Australia,  and  as  he  thought 
humanity  very  much  the  same  in  all  latitudes,  he  ventured  to 
use  them  now,  and  with  a  practised  intonation. 

Mrs.  Dawson,  taken  by  surprise  at  first,  blushed  deeply,  and 
then  exclaimed  in  a  severe  tone,  "  Mr.  Johns  ! " 

He  thought,  "  I've  gone  too  quick,"  and  he  said  at  once, 
"  Don't  be  offended,  dear  Mrs.  Dawson.  It's  in  my  nature  to 
be  frank  and  to  express  my  feelings.  I  only  recited  the  lines 
of  a  great  poet  which  came  into  my  head  that  night.  They 
occurred  to  me  because  it  was  so  natural  they  should.  Do  not 
scold  me  for  them  !     They  are  as  harmless  as  they  are  true  ! " 

Partly  restored  to  confidence,  she  said,  "I'm  afraid,  Mr. 
Johns,  you're  a  great  flatterer." 

He  answered,  "It  is  not  flattery  to  speak  the  truth,"  and  he 
gazed  into  her  face  so  searchingly  that  she  moved  a  little  from 
him,  looking  down.  Then  he  continued,  "  Where  there  is 
sympathy  it  cannot  be  restrained.  One  nature  is  drawn 
towards  another  as  the  needle  to  the  pole,  and  it  is  beyond  the 
power  of  either  to  resist.  Ah,  Mrs.  Dawson,  do  not  try  to 
check  that  precious  sentiment  which  exists  between  us,  for  it  is 
all  too  rare  in  life !  Promise  me  that  we  shall  be  always 
friends."  And,  as  he  said  this,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  with 
an  imploring  gesture.     In  doing  so,  his  hand  touched  hers. 

She  drew  back  quickly,  and  he  resumed,  "  How  can  I  teach 
you  to  see  in  me  the  sincerest  of  your  admirers,  the  most 
devoted  of  your  friends?" 

"  Really,  Mr.  Johns,"  she  said  at  length,  "  I'm  quite  ready  to 
believe  you  as  long  as  you  talk  as  a  friend  should." 

He  said,  "  It's  very  hard,  but  I  promise  that  I  will." 

"  Why  should  it  be  hard  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  question  almost  made  him  smile,  for  he  attached  great 
weight  to  women's  questions,  thinking  them  the  key  to  their 
inner  thoughts. 

He  answered,  "  If  I  were  to  tell  you  that,  I  would  break  my 
promise.     Will  you  let  me  break  it  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  in  that  case,  please  don't  answer 
me." 


4S  THE  ADVENTURES 

But  he  considered  now  that  he  had  gone  far  enough  that 
day.  "Dear  Mrs.  Dawson,"  he  said,  "let  us  not  quarrel.  I 
will  submit  to  a  hard  fate." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  presently  he  began  to  tell  her  a 
story  of  two  lovers  in  Victoria,  a  pathetic  little  story  describing 
what  he  called  "a  great  immeasurable  love,"  such  a  love  as 
only  earnest  natures  could  experience,  an  invincible  absorbing 
love,  which  neither  calumny  nor  age  could  quell,  a  love  which 
only  grew  in  its  intensity  when  one  of  the  two  lovers  was  dis- 
figured by  an  accident  for  life. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  as  he  concluded,  "that  is  the  ideal  for  which 
life  should  be  lived." 

With  a  shade  of  sadness  in  her  voice,  she  answered,  "  Yes, 
but  it's  not  given  to  every  one  to  reach  it." 

He  thought,  "  You  can't  have  reached  it  with  old  Dawson," 
and  he  answered,  "Alas  !  no,"  after  which  there  was  a  silence. 

A  little  later,  when  he  rose  to  leave,  he  said,  "  I  trust  I  am 
forgiven  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  another  time  you  must  not  be  so 
frank." 

"  Have  I  not  promised  to  dissimulate  in  future  ?  " 

"  Come  and  see  me  again  soon,"  she  said. 

He  left  the  house  with  a  light  heart,  humming  a  tune  as  he 
walked  along,  and  thinking,  "  She's  not  the  smartest  woman  I 
ever  met,  but  she  may  be  the  most  useful." 

The  afternoon  was  advancing,  and  as  he  had  told  Tarte  he 
would  not  return  to  the  Strand  that  day,  he  set  out  on  foot  for 
Westminster  to  pay  his  visit  to  Mrs.  Weber,  saying  to  himself, 
like  the  porter  in  the  Eastern  tale,  "  Oh,  what  a  blessed  day 
this  is  ! "  For  he  looked  forward  with  a  keen  sense  of  anticipa- 
tion to  his  meeting  with  the  widow. 

Carsdale  Mansions  stood,  he  found,  behind  Victoria  Street, 
and  Mrs.  Weber's  flat,  the  porter  told  him,  was  on  the  fourth 
floor. 

He  refused  the  lift  because  lifts  sometimes  broke,  and  he 
did  not  want  to  run  the  risk,  however  slight,  of  ending  or  im- 
peding his  career.     But  he  mounted  the  four  flights  nimbly. 

A  maid  opened  the  door  to  him  almost  as  soon  as  he  had 
pressed  the  knob. 

Mrs.  Weber  was  at  home,  she  said,  and  she  conducted  him 
along  a  narrow  hall  to  the  drawing-room  at  the  extreme  end. 
At  once  he  surveyed  the  room  —  a  square  room  furnished 
modestly  but  tastefully,  as  if  the  owner  had  more  taste  than 
means.  Here  and  there  an  ornament,  a  piece  of  tapestry,  or  a 
work  of  art  seemed  to  be  meant  for  richer  surroundings,  and 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  49 

there  was  a  fine  Sbvres  vase  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  which 
seemed  out  of  keeping  with  the  cheap  upholstery. 

Johns  had  scarcely  finished  making  these  observations  when 
the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Weber  entered. 

"  So  you've  kept  your  word,"  she  said,  as  she  gave  her  hand. 

"  What  human  power  could  have  made  me  break  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh,  "  one  never  knows." 

"You  seem  to  have  Httle  confidence  in  our  sex." 

"  Only  a  very  little." 

"  Your  experience  has  not  been  bad,  I  hope." 

"Not  worse,  I  suppose,  than  most  women's." 

He  had  taken  a  seat  opposite  to  her  in  a  low  chair,  and  he 
was  admiring  the  lines  of  her  faultless  figure  draped  in  the  folds 
of  a  soft  woollen  dress. 

"  Mrs.  Weber,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  very 
often  since  last  night.  The  first  moment  I  saw  you  my  attention 
was  arrested.  I  was  impressed.  You  seemed  to  me  to  be  one 
of  those  rare  women  who  embody  in  themselves  all  the  qualities 
which  we  men  prize,  as  well  as  an  indefinable  distinctiveness 
which  I  had  not  met  before.  And  now  as  I  see  you  this  after- 
noon in  this  charming  nook,  and  I  hear  you  speak  in  an  accent 
almost  of  disenchantment,  I  ask  myself — why  is  this  ?  " 

*'  I'm  afraid  you're  asking  a  question  to  which  there  is  no 
answer.  And  if  you  please,  I  don't  want  to  be  made  out  to  be 
peculiar.  No,  I  accept  things  as  they  are,  and  take  them  at 
their  value." 

"  How  well  I  understand  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "  That  is  just 
my  philosophy !" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  smiling,  "I  should  think  we  ought  to 
understand  each  other." 

"  I'm  convinced  of  it." 

He  was  in  reality  perplexed.  Never  having  met  a  woman 
who  resembled  her,  he  felt  undecided  what  method  of  behaviour 
to  adopt. 

"  And  so  you  live  alone  in  this  retreat,"  he  said,  in  order  to 
say  something. 

"Quite.     I  suppose  you,  also,  live  alone?" 

"  Yes,  and  that's  another  point  of  similarity  between  us.  We 
neither  of  us  have  chains." 

"  Except  those  which  society  imposes  on  us,  and  those  which 
we  forge  ourselves." 

"  Oh,  those  are  easily  undone." 

Without  noticing  his  remark,  she  asked — 

"  Are  you  going  to  make  a  stir  in  journalism  ?    I  like  men 
who  make  a  stir  in  something." 
X 


50  THE  ADVENTURES  OB'  JOHN  JOHNS 

Johns  thought  he  now  possessed  a  clue. 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  resolutely,  "  I  mean  to  try  to  make 
a  very  big  stir  indeed." 

"  That's  right.     I  fancy  you'll  succeed." 

•'  Ah,  Mrs.  Weber,  you  don't  know  how  much  it  depends  on 
you ! " 

"  On  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  on  you.  To  conquer,  I  need  sympathy,  encourage- 
ment, and  friendship.  I  need  to  think,  while  1  am  fighting, 
that  there  is  a  woman  of  surpassing  charm  who  understands 
me,  in  whom  I  can  confide,  in  the  sunshine  of  whose  beauty  I 
can  sometimes  bask.  And  I  felt  from  the  moment  I  beheld 
you  that  you  were  that  woman  !     Do  not  say  that  I  was  wrong." 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  and  the  expression  of  his 
face  was  as  eager  as  if  his  life  had  depended  on  her  answer. 
He  was  watching  her  every  gesture,  to  see  if  she  were  touched. 

"Of  course,  I'll  promise  you  my  sympathy,"  she  said,  "if 
that  is  of  any  use  to  you." 

"It's  everything,"  he  said,  triumphantly.  ^^ How  shall  I 
thank  you?" 

"  By  being  less  enthusiastic." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Weber,  Mrs.  Weber,  you  little  know  the  ravage 
you  have  made !  You  don't  suspect  that  I  have  not  said  a 
tithe  of  what  was  in  my  thoughts.  You  cannot  guess,  you 
cannot  guess." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Johns ! " 

"  You  reminded  me  last  night,  when  you  were  sitting  in  that 
corner,  with  the  velvet  curtain  for  a  background,  of  one  of  those 
portraits  of  the  divine  Rembrandt  which,  once  seen,  can  never 
be  forgotten.  If  those  duettists  prevented  me  from  speaking 
to  you,  my  eyes,  I  fancy,  spoke." 

"  They  are  saying  too  much  now,  it  seems  to  me  \  too 
much  for  sincerity." 

"  How  cruel  you  can  be.     I  will  swear  to  my  sincerity." 

"  Don't,"  she  said.  "  In  these  days  there's  nothing  left  to 
swear  by." 

A  servant  entered  with  a  tea  table,  and  she  did  the  honours. 

"  At  all  events,"  he  resumed  presently,  "  I  hold  you  to  your 
promise  of  sympathy,  and,  I  hope,  companionship." 

When  he  rose  to  leave,  as  he  wanted  to  make  a  supreme 
demonstration  of  his  sentiments,  he  held  her  hand  in  his  a 
moment,  and  raised  it  quickly  to  his  lips  before  she  was  able  to 
prevent  him. 

Then  he  withdrew  without  another  word. 


CHAFFER 
FOURTH 

JOHNS  was  not  long  mastering  the  art  of  interviewing.  He 
had  shown  a  certain  talent  in  questioning  the  reticent,  in 
worming  from  them  the  information  which  the  pubhc  wanted, 
and  there  was  something  in  his  presence,  in  the  intona- 
tion of  his  voice,  in  the  expressiveness  of  his  physiognomy 
which  often  opened  doors  to  him  that  were  shut  even  to 
experienced  men  like  Maskelyne.  He  had  a  commanding  way 
of  saying  "Mr  Johns,"  in  sending  in  his  name,  which 
impressed  janitors  and  clerks.  His  knowledge  of  the  world, 
too,  stood  him  in  good  stead.  He  possessed  the  scent,  the 
instinct,  which  places  the  journalist  on  the  track  of  news. 

Still,  although  his  finances  were  somewhat  better  since  he 
had  received  payment  from  the  paper,  they  were  by  no  means 
good.  For  the  interviews  were  far  from  numerous,  and  Boyd 
gave  him  no  other  work  to  do.  He  had,  also,  been  obliged  to 
buy  an  evening  suit,  which  he  obtained  on  credit  from 
Townsend  Brothers  after  paying  the  remainder  of  his  bill. 
But  he  made  the  best  of  circumstances,  and,  in  his  leisure 
moments,  he  amused  himself  by  writing  articles  which  he  tore 
up  after  he  had  read  them  out  to  the  approving  Tarte,  who,  to 
his  surprise,  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  his  career.  •*  Some 
men  are  born,"  he  thought,  "  to  pave  the  way  for  others,  and 
certainly  he's  one  of  them."  In  the  meanwhile,  fact  by  fact, 
he  collected  all  the  information  he  could  gather  about  Boyd — 
his  disposition,  character,  propensities — and  he  stored  these 
in  his  memory,  hoping  to  find  use  for  them  later  on. 

During  Dawson's  prolonged  absence  Johns  received  no  more 
invitations  from  his  wife.  When  he  called  on  her  on  the 
Sunday  following,  although  she  received  him  cordially,  she  was 
reserved,  and  she  glanced  down  when  she  spoke  to  him, 


5s  THE  ADVENTURES 

seeming  anxious  to  avoid  looking  at  him  in  the  face.  Prudery 
or  timidity,  whichever  it  might  be,  he  thought  it  a  good  sign ; 
though  he  was  a  Uttle  disappointed  that  at  parting  she  had  not 
asked  him  to  return  soon.  Probably  the  room  full  of  guests 
prevented  her,  or  she  had  been  reflecting,  and  he  was  always 
distrustful  of  feminine  reflections. 

Might  the  widow  have  related  his  visit  to  her  ?  But  no,  he 
thought  he  knew  women  well  enough  to  know  that,  where  men 
were  concerned,  there  were  certain  confidences  they  preferred 
avoiding.  As  he  did  not  find  that  he  was  being  made  much 
of  that  afternoon,  and  as  the  widow  was  not  there,  he  did  not 
remain  long. 

For  a  few  days  after  this,  however,  he  was  restless  and 
unsettled  at  the  office,  beginning  to  think  that,  after  all,  things 
weren't  going  so  well  as  he  expected,  and  asking  himself  what 
he  could  do  to  accelerate  their  progress,  when  one  morning,  as 
he  was  sitting  at  Tarte's  table,  a  clerk  brought  him  a  letter 
addressed  in  a  woman's  hand.  He  opened  it  and  read, 
"  Come  and  dine  with  me  to-morrow.  Shall  expect  you. 
Yours,  Ellen  Weber." 

After  reading  these  few  words  several  times,  he  seemed  so 
pleased  that  Tarte  looked  up  enquiringly.  But  Johns, 
thrusting  the  note  into  his  pocket,  said  calmly,  "  It's  only  a 
lady  who's  come  back  to  her  senses." 

"Ah,"  said  Tarte,  "of  women  I  know  nothing.  For  three 
and  seventy  years  I  have  kept  my  body  chaste;  and  chaste,  one 
of  these  days,  I  mean  to  die." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Johns,  looking  at  Tarte  with  open-mouthed 
astonishment ;  **  you  don't  mean  to  say  that " 

Tarte  interrupted  with  "  Yes,  sir ;  I  do.'* 

"  Extraordinary  ! "  and  Johns  contemplated  Tarte,  feeling 
more  convinced  than  ever  that  the  man  was  indeed  an  oddity. 
He  had  thought  often  of  the  pretty  widow  since  his  visit,  and 
always  with  increased  pleasure.  She  seemed  so  self-possessed 
and  so  attractive  in  the  reserve  which  she  maintained.  He 
would  have  called  on  her  again  had  he  not  been  restrained  by 
a  wish  to  wait  until  she  asked  him.  Now,  she  was  inviting  him 
to  dine  with  her — no  doubt  alone — and  nothing  could  possibly 
be  more  propitious. 

The  next  day,  at  the  office,  he  was  afraid  lest  he  might  be 
given  some  duty  which  would  prevent  him  reaching  Carsdale 
Mansions  in  time  for  dinner ;  but  the  day  passed  uneventfully, 
Boyd  refusing  to  see  anyone,  and  mysteriously  shutting  him- 
self up  in  his  room,  as  he  was  wont  to  do,  after  the  paper  had 
gone  to  press. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  53 

At  home  that  evening,  as  he  was  putting  on  his  suit,  reviling 
Townsend  Brothers  for  the  faults  he  detected  in  its  fit,  he  was 
troubled  by  one  consideration.  Should  he  put  on  a  white  tie 
or  a  black  ?  He  was  anxious  to  do  what  was  strictly  right,  but 
his  experience  was  so  limited  that  he  did  not  know  which 
would  be  most  proper  for  the  occasion,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
assurance,  he  had  a  great  dread  of  ridicule. 

After  much  wavering,  he  decided  for  the  white.  It  would 
be  better  to  err  on  the  side  of  too  much  ceremony  than  on 
that  of  not  enough. 

When  he  had  given  the  last  touch  to  his  toilet,  he  left  by 
omnibus  for  Westminster. 

He  found  Mrs.  Weber  in  the  drawing-room  alone.  She 
received  him  with  familiarity,  as  if  he  had  been  an  old 
acquaintance,  and  she  seemed  to  him  to  be  less  reserved  than 
previously.     She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  frank,  free  gesture. 

"  So  you  have  let  all  that  time  elapse  without  even  caring  to 
know  if  I  was  alive." 

"  Only  two  little  weeks  ! " 

"Three." 

"Two  only  by  the  calendar,  and  two  weeks  of  happy 
recollections  for  me,  spoilt  only  by  the  petty  duties  which  kept 
me  away  from  here." 

He  looked  at  her  intently,  then  he  asked,  "  May  I  be 
allowed  to  say  what  I  am  thinking  at  the  present  moment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it's  nothing  too  extravagant." 

"  Well,  then,  I  was  thinking  that  each  time  I  see  you  I 
discover  some  new  charm." 

"  Let  us  lay  aside  compliments  and  talk  seriously." 

"  Very  well.     Are  you  alone  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  friend  has  disappointed  me." 

Johns  said,  "  I've  no  grudge  against  that  friend." 

Then,  as  she  only  smiled,  he  added,  "  I  almost  wish  that 
your  friend  would  always  disappoint  you  when  I  am  coming." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  without  noticing  his  remark, 
"  I've  been  hearing  something  about  you." 

"  Indeed,"  he  answered  doubtfully,  a  little  apprehensive  lest 
the  "  something  "  might  relate  to  his  Australian  career. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Dawson  was  here  this  afternoon,  and  she  said 
her  husband  thought  a  lot  of  you,  and  that  you  were  certain  to 
get  on." 

"  Oh,  she  said  that,  did  she  ?  When  Dawson  returns,  I  must 
make  him  provide  the  means." 

"  Yes,  do.  And  now  what  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Dawson  ? 
Do  you  think  her  pretty  ?" 


54  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  answered  with  indifference,  "  There  are  so  many  ways 
of  being  pretty." 

The  dinner  was  served  in  a  little  plainly-furnished  room,  in 
which  the  most  conspicuous  object  was  a  full-length  painting  of 
a  German  officer  in  uniform.  Johns,  on  the  right  of  Mrs. 
Weber,  faced  this  portrait,  and  the  officer's  head  was  turned  in 
such  a  way  that  he  seemed  to  be  scrutinising  him.  And  Johns, 
who  had  a  peculiar  disHke  for  soldiers,  said  to  himself,  "  She 
makes  one  dine  with  the  departed  ! " 

"This,  you  see,"  she  said,  "is  my  modest  Httle  home;"  and 
she  looked  round  at  the  two  maids  who  were  serving  them,  as 
if  to  say,  "You  see,  I'm  served  by  women,"  while  he  was  think- 
ing, "  She's  asked  me  here  alone,  for,  of  course,  no  one  else  was 
coming,"  and  he  concluded  that  there  must  be  some  signifi- 
cance in  the  invitation. 

But  the  dinner  had  a  surprise  in  store  for  him.  Mrs.  Weber, 
who  had  hitherto,  when  he  had  met  her,  been  somewhat  taciturn 
or  rather  economical  of  words,  now  showed  a  vivacity,  a  charm 
in  speaking,  which  he  had  not  expected.  She  chatted  gaily 
about  the  theatres  she  had  been  to,  the  pictures  she  had  seen, 
and  the  music  she  had  heard,  with  taste,  giving  reasons  for  her 
preferences  which  were  always  clear  and  sometimes  clever.  As 
she  became  animated  and  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  ripe  beauty 
was  heightened  in  intensity,  and  Johns  looked  at  her  with  un- 
feigned admiration,  wondering  for  a  moment  how  he  had  had 
the  boldness,  or  the  simplicity  perhaps,  to  use  his  ordinary 
tactics  upon  such  a  woman.  But  he  soon  told  himself  that, 
after  all,  with  a  little  more,  or  a  little  less,  intelligence,  all 
women  were  alike  by  nature.  He  hadn't  up  to  then  succeeded 
badly,  or  he  would  not  have  been  dining  with  her  at  that 
moment. 

The  dinner  did  not  consist  of  many  courses,  and  Johns 
was  too  much  engrossed  in  studying  his  companion  to  notice 
what  they  were.  Throughout  he  listened  to  her  with  the 
expression  of  intense  interest  and  sympathy  which  made  him 
so  good  a  listener. 

At  dessert,  giving  expression  to  a  thought  which  struck  him 
suddenly,  he  inquired,  "  Are  you  English,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Only  half     My  father  was  Italian." 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand  those  large  dark  eyes,  and  that  olive 
tint  which  I  so  much  admire." 

"  Hush,"  she  said,  "  you  mustn't  say  those  things  when  my 
servants  are  in  hearing." 

He  bent  forward  towards  her,  and  said  in  a  low,  half-suppli- 
cating tone,  "But  may  I  presently?" 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  55 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  But  I  must,"  he  said,  "  I  must." 

"  Will  you  take  some  grapes?"  she  asked. 

But  he  refused,  and  there  was  a  silence,  during  which  their 
eyes  met  frequently. 

At  length,  pushing  l^pr  chair  from  her  hastily,  she  rose. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  let  us  go  back  to  the  drawing-room. 
You  can  smoke  there  if  you  like." 

They  passed  again  into  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  together 
on  the  sofa. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "what  is  it  you  have  to  say  to  me?" 

Johns  thought,  "  This  time  I  must  try  my  best,"  and  he 
broke  out,  passionately,  "That  not  one  day,  not  one  hour 
since  I  saw  you  first,  have  I  ceased  to  long  for  you,  to  dream 
of  you,  to  know  that  no  woman  I  have  ever  met  has  realised 
so  perfectly,  so  sweetly,  the  ideal  I  had  formed.  I  scarcely 
hoped  to  see  that  creature  of  my  dreams.  She  seemed  to  me 
too  rare  to  be  discovered  in  a  single  lifetiaie.  And  suddenly 
one  afternoon  I  met  you !  Ah,  if  you  knew  how  often,  since  I 
saw  you  last,  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  coming  here  to  tell 
you  how  I  loved  you,  how  I  cursed  the  slavery  that  kept  me 
from  you !  And  now,  this  evening,  you  have  made  me  hope 
that  you  are  not  quite  insensible  to  the  flame  which  tortures  me. 
Oh,  if  I  had  been  mistaken  when  I  thought  I  read  just  now  a 
spark  of  tenderness  in  those  lovely  eyes,  I  would  have  nothing 
left  to  hope  for  or  to  live  for — nothing  !  You  have  filled  me, 
overwhelmed  me,  with  a  profound  passion  !" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  suiting  his  action  to  his 
words,  he  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  twice  upon  her 
cheek. 

She  disengaged  herself,  and  said,  with  a  slight  frown,  "I 
wonder  what  you  think  of  me,  to  act  like  this." 

But  he  knelt  beside  her  and  clasped  her  round  the  waist, 
looking  up  into  her  face  with  an  expression  of  deep  earnestness, 
of  intense  longing. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  a  woman  destined  by  all 
the  laws  of  nature  to  be  the  solace  of  a  man  who  loves  you, 
who  adores  you,  and  who  finds  you  living  in  a  cruel  solitude, 
and  I  think,  I  think,  you  love  me." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  hand  played  with  the  lock  of 
hair  which  fell  upon  his  forehead. 

"  You  do  !  you  do  !"  he  cried  triumphantly,  and  as  she  was 
still  silent,  he  rose  and  took  her  in  his  arms  again.  This  time 
she  returned  his  kisses. 

Then,  disengaging  herself  again,  she  said,  "Whjit  a  subtle 


56  THE  ADVENTURES 

man  you  are  to  have  made  me  be  so  weak.  I  would  not  have 
thought  it  possible  !  But,  remember,  if  I  am  to  be  anything  to 
you,  it  cannot  be  your  mistress." 

"  My  wife  ?    You  would  consent  to  be  my  wife  ?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  covering  her  hand  with  kisses,  **  if  that  could 
only  be,  I  would  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth ;  but,  alas !  at 
present,  I  am  without  means." 

She  said,  interrupting  him,  "  I  know ;  and  as  I  myself  am 
barely  comfortable,  we  could  not  think  of  marriage  yet;  but 
later,  when  you  have  made  your  way " 

"Ah,  then,  how  gladly!" 

But  he  drew  her  near  to  him  again,  and  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "Ellen,  my  sweetest  Ellen,  nothing  shall  prevent  our 
union,  but  have  pity  on  my  suffering.  Think  of  me  day  by 
day  for  perhaps  a  year  longing  for  you,  sighing  for  you,  and 
remember  mine  is  not  a  cold,  patient  love,  which  lets  the  weeks 
and  months  go  by  with  small  regret,  but  a  great  absorbing 
passion  beyond  control,  a  passion  which  has  taken  hold  of  me 
for  good.  Ellen,  I  implore  you  to  be  kind,  to  have  compassion 
on  a  man  who  loves  you  to  distraction." 

She  remained  silent,  turning  her  head  away  from  him  and 
breathing  fast. 

"  Ellen,  my  little  Ellen,"  he  continued,  "  listen  to  me.  We 
will  love  each  other  so  delightfully,  supremely,  and  the  world 
shall  never  know  until  the  time  arrives.  And  we  shall  not  have 
lost  a  precious  year  of  our  lives  in  anxious  waiting,  tearing  our 
hearts  to  pieces  and  leading  an  existence  of  privation.  Ellen  ! 
that  could  not  be.  It  would  be  beyond  nature.  I  can  answer 
for  myself — it  would  be  beyond  my  powers  of  endurance." 

For  a  few  moments  she  reflected.  Then,  in  a  low  voice, 
she  asked,  "  But  how  is  it  possible  ?  My  reputation  and  the 
servants " 

"  We  will  be  prudent,  intensely  prudent.  I  will  guard  your 
reputation  jealously,  so  that  not  a  living  soul  shall  know.  We 
will  lead  a  life  which  will  be  full  of  joy,  which  will  be  all  the 
sweeter  for  the  need  of  secrecy." 

She  remained  silent,  thinking.  At  length  she  said,  "You 
are  a  dangerous  man,  a  very  dangerous  man.  Where  do  you 
live?" 

Johns  thought  of  his  third-floor  room,  with  its  dirty  carpet 
and  its  musty  furniture,  and  for  a  moment  he  felt  embarrassed. 

"  In  Grafton  Street,"  he  said,  finding  no  better  answer. 

"  That's  close  to  my  dressmaker !" 

He  thought  it  useless  to  tell  her  which  Grafton  Street  it  was, 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  57 

and  he  said  sorrowfully,  "  Yes,  but  I  have  only  a  very  little  box, 
ri.^ht  up  in  the  skies,  and,  what  is  more,  the  rules  of  the  house 
are  Spartan  as  to  ladies." 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  growing  very  serious,  "  that  there  are 
all  kinds  of  obstacles.     We  must  wait,  we  really  must." 

But  he  vowed  that  he  could  not  hve  without  her;  that  if 
obstacles  existed,  they  must  be  surmounted ;  that  if  they  wished, 
they  could  find  a  way  to  conquer  them. 

"Here,"  she  said,  "it  is  impossible." 

As  he  appeared  to  wonder  why  it  was  impossible,  she  added — 

"It  would  get  known,  and  you  know  what  Society  is  in 
England." 

He  said,  still  looking  at  her  longingly,  "  How  then  ?" 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  placing  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  if 
you  are  very  good,  we  will  take  a  trip  into  the  country  now 
and  then." 

"  Alas  !  I  cannot  leave  the  office." 

"But  on  Sundays." 

"  Oh,  then,  of  course  !  " 

"  Very  well,  then,  let  us  go  next  Sunday,  say  to  Seven  Oaks. 
It's  quite  unfashionable,  and  we  shall  meet  no  one  there  we 
know.  I've  heard  there's  a  delightful  little  inn,  with  an  old 
English  garden,  which  is  a  perfect  Eden." 

For  financial  reasons,  this  arrangement  was  far  from  pleasing 
Johns,  but  he  said  enthusiastically,  "  How  good  you  are  !  How 
happy  you  have  made  me  !  Yes,  we  will  go  to  that  little  Eden. 
I  will  dream  of  Sunday." 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  will  you  please  sit  on  that  chair 
opposite.  We  might  be  surprised  at  any  moment.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  losing  me.  I'm  fonder  of  you  than  you  fancy.  I 
liked  you  at  once  that  afternoon  at  Mrs.  Dawson's,  though  I 
didn't  think  I  should  have  given  way  to  you  so  soon." 

"You  will  never  regret  it,  never  !" 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  making  plans,  in  chat- 
ting, and  in  smoking  cigarettes,  which  Mrs.  Weber  did 
gracefully,  and  without  pose. 

When  Johns  rose  to  leave,  she  allowed  him  to  embrace  her, 
saying,  "  Be  punctual  at  Victoria  at  half-past  one." 

When  Johns  found  himself  in  the  street  again,  walking  up 
Grosvenor  Place,  he  broke  out  into  a  laugh.  "  By  God,"  he 
said,  "  I  didn't  think  it  was  so  easy,  with  such  a  woman  too  !  " 

For  he  reflected  that  he  was  now  embarked  on  an  adventure 
which  could  only  turn  out  to  his  advantage,  and  with  a  woman 
of  whose  beauty  any  man  might  feel  legitimately  proud.  He 
fancied  himself  lifted  into  another  sphere,  protected,  in  some 


58  THE  ADVENTURES 

measure,  from  the  risks  and  pitfalls  of  existence.  One  thing, 
however,  troubled  him.  This  trip  into  the  country  could  not 
be  made  for  nothing,  and  how  was  he  to  find  the  money  for  it  ? 
That  was  indeed  a  problem.  But  then,  had  he  not  already 
solved  that  of  the  two  suits  ?     He  would  solve  this  one  also  ! 

The  next  morning  at  the  ofifice  he  consulted  the  clerk  who 
kept  the  books  as  to  the  possibility  of  obtaining  an  advance, 
but  he  was  at  once  informed  that  such  a  thing  was  entirely 
against  the  rules. 

"  Damn  the  rules,"  he  muttered,  as  he  made  for  Tarte's 
room.  But  as  he  reached  the  door  a  thought  struck  him. 
Why  not  ask  old  Tarte  ? 

"  Mr.  Tarte,"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  seat  as  usual,  "  I  want 
money.  What's  the  largest  sum  you  can  advance  me  on  my 
month's  payment?" 

The  old  man,  who  was  employed  at  a  fixed  salary,  was  the 
only  person  in  the  office,  except  the  clerks,  who  was  paid 
weekly,  and  Johns,  for  this  reason,  thought  him  the  most  likely 
to  be  in  funds. 

But  Tarte  drew  a  purse  from  his  pocket,  the  leather  of  which 
was  greasily  dimmed  from  wear.  He  opened  it,  took  out  its 
contents,  six  shillings  and  a  few  pence,  and  placed  them  in  a 
row  upon  the  table. 

"That,"  he  said,  "  is  what  I  have  to  take  me  on  to  Saturday, 
and  to-day's  Wednesday.  And  that  represents  my  total 
funds  on  earth.  Judge  for  yourself  whether  I  can  lend  you 
any." 

"Incumbrances?"  asked  Johns. 

"A  little  orphan  girl,  the  fruit  of  irresponsibility.  Ah,  my 
friend,  if  ever  you  get  into  Parliament,  for  God's  sake  make  a 
law  to  prevent  the  marriage  of  incapables." 

"  Good,"  said  Johns,  "  I  will." 

Evidently  there  was  nothing  to  be  obtained  from  Tarte,  and 
as  to  Maskelyne,  he  had  confessed,  a  few  days  previously,  that 
he  was  extraordinarily  embarrassed,  his  wife  having  recently 
presented  him  with  twins. 

Altogether  the  prospects  of  obtaining  the  required  sum  by 
the  week's  end  were  extremely  vague.  His  luck,  this  time, 
seemed  to  be  growing  dim. 

But  chance  arranged  the  difficulty  by  the  return  of  Dawson 
on  the  Friday  morning.  As  soon  as  Johns  heard  he  had 
arrived,  he  went  to  his  room  and  knocked  loudly  at  his  door. 
Dawson  received  him  almost  as  a  friend,  and  asked  him,  in  a 
tone  of  consideration,  what  he  could  do  for  him. 

"  Mr.  Dawson,"  he  said,  with  gravity,  "  you  can  do  me  a  great 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  59 

favour.  An  old  friend  of  mine  in  Wales,  an  unfortunate  man 
who  married  a  girl  under  the  blind  influence  of  profound  love, 
is  ill  and  penniless,  and  he  has  appealed  to  me,  in  a  letter  of 
intense  despair,  imploring  me  to  help  him.  I  can  only  do  this, 
sir,  if  you  will  consent  to  give  me  an  advance  on  my  current 
work.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  a  few  pounds,  and  I  hope  you 
will  oblige  me." 

Although  he  used  this  pretext,  Johns  knew  quite  well  that 
Dawson  was  not  a  man  to  be  affected  by  a  story  of  distress, 
and  that  if  he  gave  him  what  he  asked,  it  would  only  be  because 
of  the  value  he  had  set  upon  him  journalistically.  He  was 
doubly  pleased,  therefore,  when  Dawson  said — 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Johns,  tell  the  cashier,  as  from  me,  to 
give  you  what  you  want." 

Johns  thanked  him  warmly,  and  Dawson  asked,  "Have  you 
been  doing  much  for  us  during  my  absence  ?," 

"  Much  less  than  I  should  like." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  see  to  that.  Mr.  Boyd  is  fond  of  nursing 
his  dislikes." 

Johns  left  with  a  feeling  that  he  had  not  done  badly  for 
himself.  He  descended  the  stairs  again,  and  requested  the 
cashier,  in  the  name  of  the  proprietor,  to  hand  him  a  five- 
pound  note.  This  the  man  did,  after  sending  up  to  know  if 
he  was  really  authorised  to  give  it. 

Thus  armed,  on  the  Sunday  Johns  left  his  lodgings  in  a 
hansom  for  the  station.  It  was  a  fine  summer  morning,  and 
the  bright  sunshine  did  its  best  to  enliven  the  empty  streets, 
and  the  dulness  of  the  closed  shops.  Johns  had  been  thinking 
of  the  widow  since  he  left  her  four  days  before,  and  his  pulse 
beat  faster  as  he  alighted  at  Victoria  and  gave  his  black 
portmanteau  to  a  porter.  The  station  clock,  when  he  arrived 
beneath  it,  after  having  bought  a  ticket,  pointed  to  a  quarter 
after  one,  and  the  train  started  at  half-past. 

He  looked  around,  but  saw  no  signs  of  Mrs.  Weber.  If, 
after  all,  she  had  repented,  and  were  going  to  disappoint  him  ! 
But  no,  it  was  still  early,  and  women  were  always  late.  He  lit 
a  cigar,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  close  to  his  portman- 
teau, scrutinizing  every  woman  who  came  into  the  station.  For 
although  it  had  been  agreed  that  they  should  travel,  at  least  as 
far  as  the  first  station,  in  separate  carriages  to  avoid  suspicion, 
he  wanted  to  see  that  she  was  in  the  train  before  he  started. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  moved  steadily  on  towards  the  half- 
hour,  and  still  she  did  not  come.  He  was  beginning  to  be 
uneasy. 

A  lady  in  a  travelling  cloak  and  a  thick  spotted  veil  appeared, 


6o  THE  ADVENTURES 

and  Johns  thought  she  was  the  widow.  When  she  came 
nearer  to  him,  he  saw  that  he  was  mistaken. 

At  last,  when  three  minutes  only  were  wanting  to  the  half- 
hour,  and  Johns  was  beginning  to  despair,  he  suddenly  saw  a 
lady  in  a  tweed  costume  issue  from  the  doorway  and  cross  the 
platform  hurriedly,  followed  by  a  porter  with  her  luggage. 

This  time  there  was  no  mistake.     It  was  Mrs.  Weber. 

She  did  not  appear  to  see  him ;  but  he  followed  her  to  the 
train  at  once,  and  took  a  seat  in  the  carriage  next  to  hers,  after 
making  a  sign  to  her  as  he  was  entering. 

"  Ha,"  he  said,  as  the  train  moved  off,  "  it's  all  right  this 
time." 

At  the  first  station  he  alighted,  and,  as  she  nodded  to  him  to 
let  him  know  that  he  might  enter,  he  jumped  into  her  carriage 
quickly,  after  the  only  other  passenger  alighted. 

"  Ellen,  my  little  Ellen,  how  good,  how  kind,  how  sweet 
of  you  to  keep  your  promise !  If  you  knew  the  moments  of 
suspense  I  passed  when  I  thought  you  weren't  coming,  when 
I  feared  you  might  have  changed  your  mind,  or  been  pre- 
vented, or  I  don't  know  what." 

"  What  would  you  have  done  if  I  hadn't  come  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  gone  home  and  shot  myself." 

She  laughed  and  said,  "  You  know  very  well  you  wouldn't." 

But  he  vowed  he  would,  while  he  kissed  her  beneath  her 
veil. 

An  hour's  ride  through  the  rich  Kentish  country  brought 
them  to  Seven  Oaks,  and,  as  Johns  had  telegraphed  for  rooms 
the  day  before,  a  trap,  which  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  station, 
soon  brought  them  to  the  hotel.  They  were  shown  into  a 
little  parlour  on  the  first  floor,  looking  out  upon  the  gardens 
and  communicating  with  the  bedroom.  Through  the  open 
window  came  a  perfume  from  the  large  roses  which  climbed 
upon  the  wall  outside,  and  there  was  a  bright  sunny  view  of 
lawns  and  trees  and  hills. 

"  At  last ! "  he  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  drawing  near 
to  her  and  assisting  her  to  take  off  her  hat.  But  she  asked, 
moving  a  little  from  him,  "What  name  did  you  give  down- 
stairs ?  " 

"  Sir  John  and  Lady  Johnson." 

"  Capital.  And  now,  Sir  John,  please  go  and  wait  for  me 
in  the  garden." 

"  But,  Ellen " 

"  You  really  must  let  me  manage  things  in  my  own  way. 
Vou'U  have  nothing  to  regret  by  waiting." 

Johns  had  been  looking  forward  the  whole  time  in  the  train 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  6i 

to  the  moment  when  they  should  be  alone,  the  moment  which 
must,  he  had  calculated,  follow  their  arrival,  and  he  was  dis- 
appointed. But  he  suspected  that  some  feminine  consideration, 
some  scruple  of  declining  virtue,  had  prompted  her  to  impose 
upon  him  this  condition,  and  he  thought  that  it  would  be  more 
delicate  on  his  part  to  accede  docilely  to  her  wishes.  One 
could  not  quite  behave  in  the  same  way  towards  the  widow  of 
a  diplomat  as  to  the  daughter  of  a  cattle  dealer.  No,  he  must 
be  discreet. 

He  asked,  **  And  must  I  really  go  ?  " 

"  You  must  really.     I'm  quite  in  earnest." 

He  took  up  his  hat  again,  and  after  a  look  in  which  he 
endeavoured  to  express  his  longing,  he  left  and  went  down  to 
the  garden. 

Then,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  gravel  paths,  between 
the  grass-plots  gay  with  flower-beds,  he  muttered,  "  I  wonder 
what  this  means.  She  can't  be  going  to  play  modesty ! "  and 
he  reflected  on  the  subtleties  of  the  female  conscience. 

A  gardener  in  shirt-sleeves  was  showering  fine  spray  from  a 
long  hose  upon  the  grass  which  ghstened  in  the  sunshine,  and 
the  air  was  cool  and  fragrant. 

Johns  looked  about  him.  The  high  laurel  hedges,  which 
divided  the  garden  from  the  fields  beyond,  had  deep  cut-out 
recesses  furnished  with  wooden  benches,  and  as  he  explored 
further,  he  saw  some  secluded  arbours  formed  of  trees  and 
bushes,  one  of  which  was  already  occupied  by  a  couple  who, 
he  concluded  from  the  peep  he  caught  of  them,  were  lovers. 

"  It's  curious,"  he  reflected,  "  that  she  should  have  known 
of  the  existence  of  this  dove-cot." 

When  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  paths,  he  turned  and 
retraced  his  steps,  walking  leisurely  along  towards  the  house. 
As  he  was  reaching  it,  Mrs.  Weber  was  coming  from  it. 

"  Have  you  been  reflecting  on  my  cruelty  ? "  she  asked,  as 
they  met  on  the  gravel  path. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  rewards  which  my  obedience 
certainly  will  merit." 

They  made,  as  by  a  tacit  understanding,  for  the  last  arbour 
at  the  extremity  of  the  garden  walks — one  that  had  the  double 
advantage  of  being  more  shut  in  than  the  remainder,  and  of 
commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  hills,  which  rose  in  a  long  ridge 
of  purple  from  a  wide  stretch  of  fields  and  meadows  in  the 
foreground. 

In  her  close-fitting  costume,  and  the  light  straw  hat  which 
rested  prettily  upon  her  dark  hair,  Johns,  as  they  sat  down, 
thought  his  companion  exquisite.     He  was,  therefore,  perfectly 


6t  THE  ADVENTURES 

sincere  when  he  exclaimed  enthusiastically,  •'  You  are  a  perfect 
Hebe ! " 

She  answered,  smiling,  "I'm  going  to  lecture  you.  You 
achieved  much  too  easy  a  victory  the  other  night,  and  I'm  still 
wondering  how  you  did  it,  and  how  you  contrived  to  make  me 
like  you.  But  now  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  that  I  am 
not  a  woman  to  be  trifled  with." 

Johns  made  a  sign  of  protestation. 

"  Or  to  submit  to  be  cast  aside  lightly  if  the  fancy  of  my  lord 
should  change.  So  I  want  you  to  reflect  before  you — love. 
Because,  you  know,  there  are  plenty  trains  to  town  this  after  • 
noon,  if  you  feel  fickle." 

But  Johns,  who  at  that  moment  would  have  sworn  fidelity 
by  every  god  he  knew,  said  quickly,  "  Child  of  little  faith ! 
How  often  shall  I  tell  you  that  I  am  an  anchor  of  fidelity  ! " 

"  If  you  really  are,  I  warn  you  I  will  fix  a  very  strong  chain 
upon  that  anchor." 

"  The  stronger  it  is  the  better  it  will  please  me." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"As  certain  as  I  am  that  those  birds  over  yonder  are  flying 
in  the  sky." 

As  he  said  this  he  thought,  "  I  was  too  quick  the  other 
night ;  she's  drawing  back  a  bit." 

"Very  well.  But  remember  that  I  can  be  much  more 
troublesome  than  you  may  think  if  I  am  played  with." 

But  he  was  growing  impatient  of  her  warnings,  and  to  put 
an  end  to  themy  he  seized  her  suddenly — almost  savagely — ■ 
and  kissed  her. 

His  sudden  act  had  the  effect  he  wished,  for,  flushed  and 
evidently  pleased,  she  said,  "  I  want  to  trust  you,  and  I  suppose 
I  must." 

A  light  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  hills,  and  the  air,  which 
in  London  had  been  warm  and  heavy,  was  delightfully 
refreshing.     The  spot  was  full  of  stillness  and  repose. 

He  said,  after  a  few  minutes,  "  What  a  charming  place  this 
is  !     How  did  you  know  of  it  ?  " 

She  answered,  "  I  was  told  of  it  by  a  pair  of  little  lovers  who 
come  here  sometimes." 

He  thought,  "  I  wonder  if  that's  true." 

"  Yes,"  she  continued ;  "  I  feel  invigorated  already.  Is  it 
the  air  or  your  society  ?  " 

He  whispered  something  in  her  ear  which  made  her  give 
a  little  laugh,  and  then  presently,  as  he  felt  a  need  for  speaking 
of  himself  to  women,  he  told  her  of  his  doings  at  the  Planet^ 
describing  the  people  he  had  interviewed,   the   types   whom 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  63 

he  had  met  with  in  the  ante-room,  the  bearishness  of  Boyd  and 
the  eccentricity  of  Tarte,  keeping  her  amused  and  interested. 

"And  you,"  she  said,  looking  into  his  face  when  he  had 
finished,  "  are  you  going  to  outstrip  them  all  ?  *' 

"  I  mean  to  try,"  he  answered  resolutely. 

And  she  glanced  at  him  again  with  an  expression  of  half- 
deferential  admiration. 

"How  I  shall  love  you  if  you  do." 

"And  only  if  I  do?" 

She  answered,  with  a  smile,  "  No,  whether  you  do  or  not." 

They  remained  there  till  the  sun  was  beginning  to  decline, 
and  the  purple  of  the  distant  hills  was  darkening. 

Then  he  asked  her,  in  a  plaintive  tone,  "Is  my  probation 
nearly  ended  ?  " 

She  replied,  ^^  Now  we're  going  to  have  dinner." 

They  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  Johns,  after  a  consultation 
with  the  proprietor  as  to  the  resources  of  his  larder,  ordered 
the  best  meal  the  place  could  give.  For  he  felt  that  his  five 
sovereigns  were  equal  to  the  occasion. 

While  he  was  doing  this,  she  had  gone  up  to  her  room, 
and  returned  quickly  before  he  had  time  to  join  her. 

So  they  dined  at  a  little  table  before  an  open  window 
looking  on  the  lawn,  in  a  long  dining-room  in  which  three 
other  couples  were  being  served.  They  both  were  some- 
what silent,  though  their  eyes  were  eloquent,  and  the 
brilliancy  of  hers  increased  as  she  sipped  the  Rcederer  with 
which  he  filled  her  glass  repeatedly.  Her  beauty  was  inten- 
sified as  the  crimson  flushes  mounted  to  her  cheeks,  and 
they  did  so  much  justice  to  the  Rcederer,  indeed,  that  when 
they  rose  from  the  table  to  take  a  stroll  upon  the  lawn,  they 
were  in  that  state  of  triumphant  calm  which  a  good  vintage, 
indulged  in  freely,  brings  about. 

After  strolling  arm  in  arm  for  a  few  minutes,  they  decided 
that  it  was  time  to  enter,  and  they  went  up  to  their  rooms  at 
once.  As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  httle  parlour  was  closed, 
Johns  took  his  companion  in  his  arms. 

"  Ah,  Ellen,  cruel  Ellen,"  he  exclaimed,  "  at  last  my  trial  is 
over !  If  you  knew  how  I  have  pined  in  bondage  all  the 
afternoon,  how  I  have  counted  every  moment  while  we  were 
over  yonder  in  the  garden,  when  I  could  only  gaze  upon  your 
beauty  and  not  taste  its  sweetness !  And  now  that  you  have 
softened  and  become  humane,  now  that  I  see  you  in  my  arms 
in  all  your  splendour,  I  feel  that  no  one  happier  than  I 
exists.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  were  beginning  a  new  chapter 
in  my  life,  the  true,  the  only  chapter.     How  often  in  Australia 


64  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

on  the  long  rides  through  territories  where  a  horseman 
is  a  soHtary  speck  on  a  vast  track,  how  often  did  I  dream  of 
meeting,  some  day  in  my  career,  a  woman  who  should  resemble 
you  !  I  gave  her  then  your  eyes,  your  hair,  your  features 
and  your  form.  That  was  my  ideal,  and  you  have  incarnated 
it." 

They  moved  to  the  open  window,  and  he  drew  her  to  him 
on  the  sofa  till  she  sank  upon  his  knee. 

"  Ah,"  she  murmured,  in  a  voice  which  now  betrayed  emo- 
tion, "  you  make  love  well ! " 

♦  ♦•»♦*♦ 

The  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  Johns  was  walking  on 
the  lawn  smoking  a  cigar  and  indulging  in  reflections. 

As  he  paced  to  and  fro  alertly  with  the  step  of  a  man  who 
has  succeeded  in  an  enterprise,  and  who  is  on  good  terms  with 
himself,  he  could  not  help  admitting  that  his  expectations  had 
been  fully  realized,  and  that  Mrs,  Weber,  by  the  passion  which 
she  had  evinced  for  him,  had  made  amends  for  the  coquetry 
which  she  had  shown  at  first.  This  was  his  first  experience  of 
the  kind,  and  it  had  been  so  incontestably  superior  to  any- 
thing he  had  known  before,  that  he  almost  wondered  he  had 
ever  found  it  possible  to  interest  himself,  even  in  the  most  re- 
mote degree,  in  the  plebeian  lasses  who  had  crossed  his  path. 
While  there  were  delightful  women  to  be  conquered  in  what 
was  known  as  good  society,  why  waste  one's  time  in  humble 
wooing  ?  And  he  reflected  with  a  feeling  of  self-congratulatjon 
that,  unless  he  was  mistaken,  he  had  ignited  a  considerable 
flame  in  the  heart  of  the  pretty  widow.  Of  course,  there 
might  be  a  drawback  to  this  some  day ;  but  for  the  present 
he  was  happy,  and  he  was  not  given  to  troubling  over  much 
about  the  future. 

Thinking  in  this  way,  he  continued  strolling  until  at 
length  the  noise  of  a  window  being  opened  made  him  stop 
and  look  up  at  the  house.  Mrs.  Weber  was  leaning  out  of  the 
French  window,  around  which  the  rosebuds  formed  a  kind  of 
garland. 

He  kissed  his  hand  to  her,  and  then,  contemplating  her, 
exclaimed,  "  A  perfect  idyll ! " 

Shortly  afterwards  they  returned  by  an  early  train. 


CHAPTER 
FIFTH 

WITH  the  return  of  Dawson,  Johns'  position  mended. 
Not  only  was  he  kept  more  continuously  employed 
with  minor  tasks  of  news-collecting  in  the  intervals  when 
there  was  a  dearth  of  interviews,  but  another  article  of  his 
was  published  in  the  paper,  by  order  of  the  proprietor,  at 
the  instance  of  the  member  for  North  Aldgate.  The  enmity 
of  Boyd  had  become  unrelenting,  although  the  chief  was  forced 
to  make  some  show  of  hiding  it,  since  Johns  enjoyed  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Dawsons.  And  Johns,  accepting  this  antagonism, 
did  nothing  to  conciliate  the  editor,  thinking  that  as  long  as  he 
was  in  favour  with  the  controlling  power  he  had  not  much  to 
fear.  Besides,  this  attitude  of  Boyd's  gave  him  more  liberty  of 
action. 

On  the  other  hand,  although  he  was  receiving  larger  pay,  he 
was  still  embarrassed,  owing  to  his  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Weber. 

He  had  succeeded  in  convincing  her  that  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should  be  in  London  on  the  Sundays,  so 
that  he  might  pay  visits  to  the  Dawsons  and  to  others  who 
received  on  that  especial  day ;  but  she  had  at  once  discovered 
a  variety  of  ways  of  meeting,  now  in  a  hotel  at  Sydenham  or 
Richmond,  now  in  one  of  the  great  caravanserais  of  the  metro- 
polis, where  they  arrived  in  the  evening  and  left  again  early 
the  next  day.  Each  of  these  little  escapades,  however,  made 
a  call  on  Johns'  slender  purse,  and  he  soon  went  into  debt 
with  his  landlady  in  Grafton  Street  for  the  modest  rent  he 
owed  her. 

Then,  on  the  days  when  he  was  most  straitened,  he  would 
arrive  at  the  place  of  meeting  (generally  a  railway  station) 
vexed  and  irritable,  vowing  he  would  break  with  her  unless 
» 


66  THE  ADVENTURES 

she  let  him  visit  her  at  home.  But  she  attributed  his  peevish- 
ness to  his  worries  at  the  office,  and  increased  in  tenderness, 
in  graceful  little  ways  which  flattered  him  and  soon  drove  his 
ill-humour  away. 

He  soon  discovered,  also,  to  his  surprise,  that  she  possessed 
a  head  far  more  resourceful  and  capable  of  good  reasoning 
than  he  had  at  first  suspected,  and  that  he  could  find  in  her 
an  intelligent  and  patient  hearer  whenever  he  wished  to  speak 
about  his  affairs,  as  he  generally  did  on  the  Wednesday  even- 
ings, when  he  dined  with  her  alone  at  Carsdale  Mansions. 

On  one  of  these  evenings,  a  few  weeks  after  the  flight  to 
Seven  Oaks,  they  were  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner, 
talking  of  the  resignation  of  the  Ministry  which  had  surprised 
all  London  the  day  before.  The  Government  had  been 
defeated  by  a  vote  of  want  of  confidence,  just  on  the  eve  of  a 
general  election,  and  there  was  joy  in  the  ranks  of  the  radicals, 
who  thought  their  prospects  of  obtaining  a  majority  in  the 
next  Parliament  exceptionally  good. 

"John,"  she  said,  "I've  been  thinking  over  it,  and  I've 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  ought  to  take  some  part  in 
the  election.     Why  not  offer  to  help  Parker  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't.     I  haven't  time  enough." 

"  Why  not  address  meetings  of  an  evening,  you  who  speak 
so  well?" 

Johns,  who  had  been  looking  at  the  floor  reflectively,  glanced 
up  at  her. 

"By  God,"  he  said,  "that's  not  a  bad  idea!"  and  he 
resolved  that,  if  it  were  at  all  possible,  he  would  put  it  into 
execution. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "  I  can  be  of  some  use  sometimes." 

He  answered,  "  Dear  little  Ellen,  of  course  you  can;  you're 
the  most  delightful,  precious  Uttle  woman  that  was  ever  born 
the  most  admirable   companion   any  man   was   ever  blessed 
with."    But  he  thought,  "  You  would  be  if  you  didn't  cost  so 
much." 

She  asked,  "Will  you  adopt  my  plan?" 

"  Certainly,  if  it's  at  all  feasible." 

"I  know  Parker  pretty  well,"  she  added;  "if  you  like  I'll 
write  to  him  to  tell  him  he  must  let  you  help  him." 

But  Johns  did  not  fall  in  with  this  proposal.  He  did  not 
want  to  be  so  openly  patronized  or  aided  by  a  woman. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Ellen,  he  might  then  suspect  something.  I'll 
go  to  him  myself." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  she  said,  with  a  little  disappointment 

"  1  didn't  know  that  you  knew  Parker,"  he  pursued. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  67 

She  answered  carelessly,  "  Oh  yes,  all  the  Dawsons'  friends." 

A  little  later,  as  he  was  leaving,  she  whispered  in  his  ear, 

To-morrow  evening  at  St.  Pancras." 

She  had  spoken  of  this  meeting  once  before  that  evening, 
but  nothing  had  been  fixed,  and  Johns  had  tried  to  avoid  the 
subject.  Now,  however,  when  she  returned  to  it,  and  wanted 
him  to  promise,  while  he  knew  he  hadn't  a  sovereign  in  his 
purse,  he  said,  "No,  not  to-morrow,  I  may  have  to  work 
too  late." 

"  You  didn't  say  that  before,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  Probably  because  I  didn't  think  of  it." 

"  You  were  not  so  forgetful  a  few  weeks  ago." 

He  thought,  "  She's  showing  her  claws  already,"  and,  as  he 
frowned,  she  added,  putting  her  arm  around  his  neck — 

"  No,  John,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  unkind.  We'll  meet  when 
you  are  able." 

But  as  he  saw  no  prospect  of  an  improvement  in  his  finances 
for  some  time  to  come,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  best  thing  he 
could  do  would  be  to  make  a  clean  confession. 

"  Ellen,  I  may  as  well  be  frank  with  you.  The  truth  is,  I 
can't  afford  it.  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you,  but  you've  forced  me 
to.     I'm  simply  what  is  called  hard  up." 

But  now  she  drew  him  towards  her  eagerly,  exclaiming — 

"  Poor  Uttle  Johnnie !  How  could  I  have  been  so  stupid  as 
not  to  think  of  that.  How  silly,  how  clumsy  of  me !  Forgive 
me,  Johnnie,  won't  you?" 

He  kissed  her  without  answering.  He  was  curious  to  know 
if  she  had  something  to  propose. 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  she  asked,  despondently. 

•'Ah!  what?" 

She  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  In  a  little  flat  like  this  it's  impossible  to  avoid  the  vigilance 
of  servants.     But  listen,  I've  thought  of  something " 

She  hesitated,  glancing  at  him  sideways,  as  if  afraid  to 
express  her  thought.  Then  she  whispered,  "You  must  let 
me  pay  the  bills." 

But  Johns  recoiled  from  her. 

"  Never ! "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  wounded  pride. 

"  But,  Johnnie,  listen  to  me.  It  will  only  be  for  a  little 
while,  only  until  you  are  better  off.  And  since  we  are  going  to 
marry,  what  can  it  matter?" 

But  Johns  was  obdurate.  In  refusing,  he  considered  he  was 
acting  a  remarkably  fine  part — a  part  which  he  remembered 
having  once  seen  acted  on  the  stage — and  he  had  no  intention 
of  spoiling  his  effect  by  giving  way 


68  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  No,"  he  said  firmly,  "  that  is  impossible.  What  would  you 
think  of  me  if  I  agreed  to  that  ?  What  would  I  think  of  my- 
self?   Never!" 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,"  she  said,  sighing  and  drawing  near 
to  him  again.     **  How  chivalrous  you  are  !" 

He  answered,  "  We  must  have  patience.  In  any  case,  if  I 
take  up  this  election  work,  I  shall  be  very  busy." 

They  spoke  no  more  about  it,  but  later,  as  he  was  walking 
home,  he  congratulated  himself  that  he  had  acted  prudently. 
She  would  be  more  fond  of  him  than  ever  now,  and  for  the 
moment,  what  more  charming  mistress  could  a  man  have? 
And  who  knew  ?  If  it  came  to  the  worst,  she  might  be  useful 
in  other  ways.  As  to  the  place  of  meeting,  she  would  have  to 
conquer  her  fear  of  the  servants  (if  that  were  the  real  obstacle) 
and  receive  him  in  her  flat,  which,  in  reality,  was  what  he 
wanted.  He  found  himself  at  home  there — was  at  his  ease.  At 
all  events,  he  had  broken  the  ice  on  the  question  of  his  means, 
and  that  relieved  him  of  a  source  of  much  annoyance. 

The  next  day,  as  he  was  fond  of  putting  his  plans  into 
execution  quickly,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  work  at  the 
Planet^  he  set  out  for  Eaton  Square,  where  the  member  for 
North  Aldgate  lived. 

Parker  was  at  home,  and  received  him  in  his  library,  on  the 
ground  floor  of  a  large  house  with  a  wide  Roman  portico. 

Without  circumlocution,  Johns  explained  the  object  of  his 
visit.  He  had  come,  he  said,  to  offer  help  in  the  contest 
which  was  to  be  held  shortly,  and  which  promised  to  be 
particularly  acute,  for  the  Aldgate  seat.  The  Conservative 
opponent,  Parker  knew,  was  popular,  and  therefore  a  strong 
propaganda  of  radical  opinions  was  essential.  He  was  ready, 
if  Parker  wished,  to  undertake  that  campaign,  and  to  lay 
special  stress  on  Education. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Parker,  "you're  the  very  man  I  want, 
and  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  had  already  thought  of  asking  you. 
As  you  say,  it  is  necessary  to  preach  a  great  deal  to  the  public 
this  time,  and  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  you.  You  will  assist 
me  when  I  address  my  constituency,  and  if  you  like  to  lecture 
them  on  other  nights,  the  hall  will  be  at  your  disposal.  I  will 
give  instructions  to  my  agent." 

Johns  said,  "Then  it's  agreed.  I  prophesy  that  you'll  get 
in." 

"  Thanks.     Of  course,  you're  used  to  speaking  ?" 

"  In  Melbourne  I  have  addressed  thousands." 

"  Quite  so.     Then  it's  settled." 

They  discussed  the  situation  and  the  prospects  of  the  party 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  69 

for  half  an  hour,  and  when  Johns  left,  it  was  understood  that 
he  should  speak  at  the  meeting  which  was  to  be  held  in  three 
days'  time. 

As  he  walked  through  the  park  afterwards,  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  By  God,  I  wonder  if  I  can  speak ! "  for  the  Melbourne 
thousands  had  existed  only  in  his  imagination,  and  he  had 
dived  into  this  business  because  he  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  make  use  of  an  opportunity  whenever  one  was  offered. 
"But,"  he  soliloquised,  "how  I  shall  score  with  Dawson  if  I 
pull  through !" 

During  the  three  days  which  intervened  he  worked  very  hard, 
devoting  every  minute  he  could  spare  to  reading  up  Parker's 
speeches  in  the  previous  session,  saturating  himself  with  the 
nostrums  of  extreme  radicalism,  becoming  familiar  with  the 
aims  and  routine  of  the  party,  and  having  meetings  with  Parker 
and  his  agent.  He  had  said  nothing  about  the  meeting  at  the 
office,  but  when  the  day  arrived  Boyd  sent  for  him. 

"  You'll  be  good  enough,"  the  editor  said,  "  to  go  to  Aldgate 
this  evening  to  report  the  meeting  of  Parker's  constituents." 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  I  shan't  be  able  to.  I'm  going  to  speak 
myself." 

"  You  ! "  exclaimed  Boyd,  astounded. 

"Yes,  I." 

As  soon  as  Boyd  had  realised  the  situation,  he  said  slowly, 
"  Oh,  very  well,  I'll  send  Maskelyne."    And  so  it  was  arranged. 

Tarte,  when  he  heard  of  it,  remarked,  "My  friend,  you're 
climbing  the  right  ladder,"  and  Johns  replied,  "  I  hope  so." 

Still,  when  he  was  in  the  cab  with  Parker's  agent  later  on, 
bound  for  Aldgate,  he  felt  uncomfortable,  for  he  could  not  help 
confessing  to  himself  that  he  was  ill-equipped  for  the  task  he 
had  undertaken.  It  was  true  he  had  arranged  with  Maskelyne 
that,  if  he  halted  or  became  confused,  the  speech  would  be 
"touched  up";  but  he  knew  that  there  were  half  a  dozen 
reporters  of  other  papers  who  would  make  capital  of  it  against 
him. 

After  a  long  drive,  partly  through  the  City,  they  reached  a 
district  of  sullen  slums  where  Johns  wondered  that  politics,  or 
indeed  anything,  should  have  an  interest  for  anyone,  and  they 
stopped  at  a  large  brick  building  in  what  seemed  to  be  the  best 
street  of  the  locality.  As  Johns  and  the  agent  entered,  the 
large  bare  hall  was  beginning  to  fill,  although  no  one  as  yet 
was  on  the  platform.  Parker  arrived  a  few  moments  after- 
wards, and  after  him  several  well-known  radicals,  most  of  them 
in  frock  coats. 

There  was  a  short  consultation  in  the  ante-room.     Then 


70  THE  ADVENTURES 

they  monnted  to  the  platform.  On  the  stairs  Johns  found  an 
opportunity  to  say  to  Parker,  "  If  you'll  let  me  speak  about 
your  Education  Bill  io-night,  I  should  prefer  it." 

"That's  just  as  I  intended  it,"  the  educational  reformer 
answered,  and  Johns  thought  he  had  reason  to  congratulate 
himself,  as  he  was  well  versed  in  that  subject,  and  knew  his 
telling  phrases  quite  by  heart. 

From  the  platform  he  looked  down  on  the  sea  of  heads 
beneath  him.  The  audience  seemed  to  be  drawn  almost 
entirely  from  the  lower  classes — a  rough,  untidy  audience, 
who  diffused  about  the  room  an  odour  of  dirty  clothes  and 
stale  tobacco. 

As  he  was  contemplating  them,  and  wondering  what  words 
and  terms  would  be  most  likely  to  attract  them,  he  suddenly 
perceived,  in  a  row  of  chairs  immediately  below  the  platform, 
not  only  the  wife  of  the  member,  but,  to  his  astonishment,  Mrs. 
Dawson  and  Mrs.  Weber. 

He  had  not  written  to  Mrs.  Weber  that  the  meeting  was 
going  to  be  held,  neither  had  he  more  than  casually  mentioned 
it  to  Mrs.  Dawson.  Their  presence  there  among  that  throng 
of  artizans  was  certainly  remarkable.  Whom  had  they  come  to 
listen  to?  Parker  or  himself ?  And  had  they  come  together, 
or  had  they  met  there  ?    He  would  have  to  find  that  out. 

But  at  that  moment  they  were  both  looking  in  his  direction, 
smiling.     He  bowed  and  returned  their  smiles. 

Mrs.  Dawson,  he  noticed,  looked  away  again  quickly;  but 
Mrs.  Weber  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  so  intently  that  he 
began  to  feel  annoyed,  finding  that  she  was  carrying  the  thing 
too  far,  and  asking  himself  why  women  always  ended  in 
exaggeration. 

As  soon  as  the  seats  were  filled,  and  the  clatter  of  thick  boots 
on  the  deal  floor  was  over,  Parker  rose  from  his  chair  amid 
applause,  and  began  his  speech.  He  told  his  audience  that  they 
were  on  the  eve  of  a  great  struggle,  in  which  the  party  of  pure 
egoism,  of  unjust  privileges,  of  undue  wealth,  was  going  to  war 
against  the  friends  of  industry,  against  the  champions  of  the 
artizan.  And  he  urged  on  them  the  need  of  union,  of 
solidarity  in  the  great  effort  that  radical  opinions  were  about  to 
make  against  the  narrow  doctrines  of  conservatism,  which 
never  could  be  in  the  van  of  progress. 

He  told  them  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  using  many  of 
the  well-worn  phrases  which  seldom  fail  to  impress  the  masses, 
and  now  and  then  he  was  interrupted  by  applause.  Then  he 
alluded  to  his  efforts  to  give  them  the  inestimable  benefits  of 
higher  education,  and  he  ended  with  a  promise  that  he  would 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  yi 

never  relax  those  efforts  until  he  had  achieved  his  purpose. 
He  spoke  fluently,  and  in  a  manner  calculated  to  flatter  hearers 
of  their  class. 

But  the  latter  part  of  his  speech  fell  flat.  The  gentlemen 
of  North  Aldgate  did  not  seem  impressed  with  the  educational 
advantages  he  wished  to  offer  them,  and  showed  some  signs  of 
disapproval.  Seeing  this,  he  said,  "  I  hear  to  my  regret  some 
expressions  of  dissent,  and,  as  it  is  always  difficult  to  speak  in 
praise  of  one's  own  handiwork,  I  will  ask  you  to  listen  for  a 
few  moments  to  Mr.  Johns,  who  has  made  a  special  study  of 
the  subject  of  higher  education,  both  in  this  country  and  in 
Australia." 

But,  as  Johns  was  rising,  a  voice  from  the  middle  of  the  hall 
cried  out,  "  It's  'igher  wages  we  wants,"  and  there  was  a  general 
murmur  of  approval,  which  was  extremely  awkward  at  that 
juncture.     The  moment  was  somewhat  critical  for  Parker. 

Johns  commenced  his  speech  in  a  voice  which  was  so  deep 
and  clear  that  the  hall  resounded  with  it.  Standing  well 
forward,  with  his  arms  folded,  and,  looking  down  upon  his 
audience  almost  with  compassion,  he  began — 

"  I  have  heard  with  feelings  of  profound  astonishment  some 
gentleman  in  this  hall  say  that  higher  wages  and  not  enlighten- 
ment were  his  chief  desire,  and  I  have  felt  sorry  for  that 
gentleman,  sorry  that  it  should  be  possible  that  such  a  mis- 
conception in  these  times  of  progress  should  exist.  For,  do 
you  know  what  this  grave  error  means  ?  It  means  that  there 
is  among  you — amongst  you,  who  represent  a  section  of  the 
gallant  toilers  who  make  England  great,  an  extraordinary 
blindness  to  your  own  welfare,  a  lamentable  failure  to  appreciate 
the  noble  efforts  which  are  being  made  by  your  enlightened 
representative  in  Parliament.  And  I  suppose  that,  if  I  were 
to  tell  you  that  the  murmur  of  dissent  you  made  just  now  was 
a  great  and  flagrant  wrong  towards  your  sons — aye,  and 
towards  your  daughters — you  would  be  incredulous,  you  would 
wonder  what  I  meant,  you  would  think  I  was  romancing.  And 
yet  such  is  the  case — the  wrong  is  flagrant,  the  injustice  is 
extreme.  What  is  it,  I  would  ask,  that  keeps  the  best 
intelligences  among  you  from  rising  to  the  rank  which  is  their 
due  ?  Want  of  a  higher  education !  What  is  it  that  con- 
demns you  to  be  the  users  of  mechanical  appliances  and  rarely 
the  inventors  ?  Want  of  a  higher  education  !  What  is  it  that 
gives  capital  so  tyrannous  a  power  over  you  ?  Want  of  a 
higher  education  !  You  are  paid  in  proportion  to  the  cunning 
of  your  brains,  and  brains  do  not  come  into  the  world 
equipped.     To  equip  them  in  accordance  with  their  strength 


78  THE  ADVENTURES 

costs  money,  and  you  cannot  afford  that  money  because  you 
are  working  for  employers  who  do  not  wish  you  should.  But 
if  the  State  provides  your  sons,  whose  interests  you  have  been 
ignoring,  with  the  means  of  rising  as  far  as  their  brains  will 
carry  them,  can  you  not  see  that  there  will  be  an  end  for  ever 
to  the  supremacy  of  class,  and  that  every  boy  you  send  to 
school  will  carry  in  his  satchel  a  marshal's  staff,  a  judge's 
gown,  or  a  statesman's  wallet  ?  And  those  are  the  supreme 
advantages  you  would  deny  your  sons  in  refusing  to  take 
interest  in  the  great  question  ! " 

Johns  paused  a  moment  to  gauge  his  audience,  who,  in 
answer  to  his  question,  cried  "  No,  no,"  enthusiastically. 

Then,  finding  that  he  had  gained  their  confidence,  he  con- 
tinued praising  Parker's  system,  and  denouncing  the  short- 
comings of  the  Board,  just  as  he  had  already  done  in  the 
columns  of  the  Planet.  And  as  he  had  the  subject  at  his 
fingers'  ends,  as  he  knew  the  best  terms  to  employ,  the  most 
useful  adjectives  to  use,  and  as  he  suited  his  address  to  the 
understanding  of  his  hearers  without  simplifying  it  too  obviously, 
he  was  listened  to,  throughout,  with  marked  attention,  and 
rewarded,  when  he  sat  down  again,  with  a  prolonged  outburst 
of  applause.  He  had  made  them  think,  had  interested  them. 
They  were  satisfied  and  grateful  after  their  own  manner. 

A  few  more  speeches  after  this  were  made  by  others  on 
the  platform,  and  a  concluding  one  by  Parker,  who,  this  time, 
was  loudly  cheered. 

When  the  meeting  closed,  amid  the  noise  of  shuffling 
feet  and  shifting  chairs,  Parker  shook  hands  with  Johns. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  speech,"  the  member  said.  '*  It 
was  timely  and  well-made,  and  I  am  indebted  to  you  greatly 
for  it." 

Johns  thought,  "  I  should  think  it  about  stuck  you  on  your 
legs  again."  He  merely  said,  "  It  was  lucky  they  received  it 
well." 

In  the  ante-room  they  found  the  ladies  waiting  for  them. 

Johns  said,  addressing  them,  "  I  was  not  aware  we  were  to 
have  had  this  honour." 

Mrs.  Weber  answered,  "  You  forgot  to  tell  your  friends  about 
the  meeting,  but  Mr.  Parker  was  less  neglectful." 

Mrs.  Dawson  said,  "We  thought  you  spoke  so  well, 
Mr.  Johns !  "  while  the  Hon.  Mary  Parker  acquiesced  with, 
"  Admirably,  I'm  sure." 

Johns  ventured,  "  If  I  said  anything  worth  listening  to,  I  must 
certainly  have  been  inspired  by  your  presence,"  and  as  he  said 
this,  he  included  the  three  ladies  in  a  single  glance.  Mrs.  Dawson 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  73 

said,  "  Mr.  Johns  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  speech  of  any 
kind,"  and  the  rest  laughed. 

Parker,  who  had  been  talking  to  his  agent,  now  came  up  and 
said  a  few  words  to  his  wife  <ind  Mrs.  Weber. 

Mrs.  Dawson  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  say  to 
Johns,  "  You  should  come  to  see  us  oftener,  Mr.  Johns." 

He  answered,  in  a  tone  which  could  not  be  overheard  by  the 
remainder  of  the  party — 

"  I'm  dying  to.  If  you  will  tell  me  when  you  are  at  home 
alone,  quite  alone  you  know,  I'll  come  to  have  a  chat." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said,  "Come  on 
Saturday  at  four." 

"  Depend  upon  it,"  he  replied,  "  I  won't  fail,"  and  he  looked 
into  her  eyes  with  that  penetrating  look  the  force  of  which  he 
had  often  tested.  Parker,  put  into  a  good  temper  by  the 
success  of  the  evening's  meeting,  now  invited  them  to  sup  at 
Willis's,  and  as  they  all  accepted,  they  left  the  hall  together  to 
proceed  to  King  Street.  But  as  the  Dawsons'  brougham 
could  naturally  only  contain  four,  the  party  had  to  separate, 
and  Parker  proposed  that  Johns  should  escort  his  wife  and 
Mrs.  Dawson,  while  he  would  accompany  Mrs.  Weber  in 
a  cab. 

It  seemed  to  Johns  that  this  arrangement  was  not  entirely  to 
Mrs.  Parker's  taste,  but  as  she  made  no  objection,  it  was  carried 
out. 

During  the  drive,  which  was  a  long  one,  the  two  ladies  whom 
Johns  accompanied  talked  together,  while  he,  leaning  back  in 
his  corner,  and  thinking  over  his  experience  that  evening  with 
a  warm  feeling  of  satisfaction,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Mrs. 
Dawson,  whose  face  looked  pretty  against  the  dark  background 
of  the  carriage  as  the  street  lights  revealed  it.  Now  and  then 
she  gave  him  a  rapid  glance  as  if  to  show  that  she  was 
conscious  he  was  looking  at  her,  and  in  this  way  they  reached 
the  Restaurant. 

The  supper,  which  consisted  of  a  few  delicacies  in  season, 
was  served  them  at  a  round  table  in  the  largest  of  the  rooms. 
Parker  and  Johns  did  their  best  to  enliven  the  repast,  but 
there  was  a  reserve  on  the  ladies'  part,  the  reason  of  which 
was  not  apparent.  Mrs.  Parker  seemed  disinclined  to  speak, 
and  Mrs.  Weber  was  far  less  talkative  than  usual.  There  was 
a  complete  absence  of  expansion,  and  instead  of  being  solely 
interested  in  the  conversation,  the  ladies  looked  around  them 
frequently,  studying  the  fit  of  an  evening  dress  displayed  at  one 
of  the  adjacent  tables,  or  watching  a  famous  actress  supping 
with  a  Jewish  banker.      Altogether,  the  spirit  of  concord  was 


74  THE  ADVENTURES 

somehow  wanting,  and  no  one  seemed  sorry  when  an  hour 
afterwards  the  party  ended. 

This  time  Mrs.  Dawson  went  with  the  Parkers,  and  Johns, 
who  had  offered  to  see  Mrs.  Weber  home,  entered  a  hansom 
with  her. 

For  some  moments  neither  said  a  word,  each  waiting  for  the 
other  to  speak  first. 

Presently  Johns  said,  "  Ellen,  I'm  going  back  with  you  to- 
night ! " 

But  she  replied,  "  What  were  you  saying  to  Mrs.  Dawson  in 
the  hall?" 

"  Merely  that  I  would  call  some  day." 

"  You  were  saying  more  than  that." 

Johns  thought,  "She's  going  to  be  jealous,"  and  he  answered, 
"Ellen,  my  Uttle  Ellen,  don't  be  foolish,  I  have  no  other 
thought  but  you.      You  are  my  whole  life." 

She  asked,  "  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  that  the  meeting 
was  coming  off?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  surprise  you,  and  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  care  to  go  to  such  an  unwashed  gathering." 

"  You  might  have  guessed  I  would  like  to  hear  you  speak." 

He  kissed  her  on  her  ear,  whispering,  "Ellen,  I'm  going 
home  with  you ;  I'm  going  home  with  you  to-night." 

Half  conquered  by  his  words  and  the  sensation  of  his  lips 
and  breath  upon  her  face,  she  leaned  towards  him,  saying, 
"  John,  it's  quite  impossible." 

He  answered,  "  It's  going  to  be  done." 

They  had  reached  Victoria  Street,  and  the  hansom  dashed 
along  the  wooden  pavement,  past  the  high,  gaunt,  blackened 
rows  of  houses,  placid  in  their  sombreness,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
it  stopped  before  the  door  of  Carsdale  Mansions. 

Johns,  to  avoid  delay,  thrust  the  fare  through  the  trap  in  the 
roof  of  the  vehicle  and  hurried  in  with  his  companion,  taking 
her  arm  to  assist  her  quickly  up  the  stairs. 

When  they  reached  the  door  of  the  flat,  she  said,  "  Fortunately 
I  told  the  servants  not  to  wait  if  I  should  be  late." 

As  soon  as  they  were  inside,  and  the  door  of  the  drawing- 
room  closed  upon  them,  she  threw  herself  into  his  arms, 
exclaiming,  "  You  looked  so  well  when  you  were  speaking  that 
I  could  not  take  my  eyes  away  from  you  for  a  single  instant." 

"  And  you  so  charming  down  below  there,  that  I  dared  not 
look  lest  I  should  get  confused." 

"  Is  that  the  real  truth  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Do  you  doubt  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  John  dear,  I  never  want  to  doubt  you." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  75 

He  led  her  to  a  seat,  and  feeling  at  his  ease  in  the  pleasant 
room  in  which  he  seemed  to  have  suddenly  acquired  a  peculiar 
right  of  sojourn,  he  pulled  out  his  cigar  case  and  offered  her  a 
cigarette. 

She  took  one,  and  they  smoked  together. 

Presently  she  said,  *'  I  little  thought  this  evening  when  I 
started  that  you  would  make  me  break  my  resolution  in  this 
way." 

He  answered,  "Your  resolution  was  too  cruel.  It  was 
destined  to  be  broken." 

Then,  sending  a  puff  of  smoke  upward  and  watching  it  as  it 
ascended  to  the  ceiling,  he  exclaimed,  "Ah,  Ellen,  you  don't 
know  what  I  felt  when  those  worthy  men  applauded  me  to- 
night !  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  found  the  road  which  was 
to  lead  me  on  to  fortune.  I  fancied  I  heard  in  the  echo  of 
their  applause  a  note  which  was  particularly  sweet.  Think 
what  they  can  do  for  a  man  who  gets  their  ear.  It  doesn't 
matter  what  you  preach  to  them  as  long  as  you  manage  to  catch 
their  fancy.  Then  they  stick  to  you  for  ever.  Ah  !  Ellen, 
one  has  only  to  believe  sufficiently  in  the  folly  of  one's  fellows 
to  succeed!" 

She  said,  "  I  hope  you  don't  apply  that  principle  to  me." 

He  answered,  "  How  often  you  need  to  be  reassured ! 
Where  is  the  parallel,  I  should  like  to  know,  between  a  lovely 
woman  and  a  populace  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  I  was  joking.  I  know  you  will  get  on.  I  can 
see  it  in  everything  you  do." 

He  answered,  "  My  best  achievement  will  always  be  to  have 
won  you." 

The  next  morning  Johns  left  Mrs.  Weber's  flat  before  the 
servants  were  about,  and  went  down  the  four  flights  of  stairs 
slowly. 

As  he  was  descending  the  last  flight,  he  perceived  that  the 
porter  whom  he  had  hoped  to  avoid  was  in  the  hall  polishing 
the  mahogany  of  the  kind  of  sentry-box  in  which  he  generally 
sat. 

Johns  thought,  "  Here's  a  man  who  must  be  squared,"  and  as 
he  always  liked  to  remove  obstacles  as  soon  as  they  presented 
themselves,  he  dived  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  produced  a 
half  sovereign — the  last  that  he  had.  Armed  with  this,  he 
approached  the  porter  who  was  looking  at  him  with  a  half- 
perplexed  smile.  Evidently  the  man  had  recognized  the 
cavalier  who  often  called  on  Mrs.  Weber. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Johns,  "  I  shall  probably  be  often  leaving 
this  house  early  in  the  morning,  and  I  want  you  to  let  me  make 


70  THE  ADVENTURES 

you  this  Htttle  present — as  an  earnest  of  more  of  the  same  kind 
if  you  appreciate  sufficiently  how  absolutely  unnecessary  it  is  to 
tell  anybody  that  you've  seen  me." 

The  man  took  the  modest  offering  and  said,  with  a  reassuring 
nod — 

"All  right,  sir,  thank  you,  you  needn't  trouble.  You  can 
trust  to  me,  sir.  My  motto  is,  never  let  your  right  'and 
know  what  your  left  'and  doeth." 

"An  excellent  motto,"  said  Johns;  "it's  one  I  use  my- 
self." 

The  man  smiled,  and  Johns  left  Carsdale  Mansions. 

It  was  so  early  that  the  refreshment  room  at  the  station, 
where  he  wanted  to  have  breakfast,  was  not  open  when  he 
reached  it,  and  he  was  obliged  to  stroll  about  in  the  vicinity 
while  waiting.  It  was  a  fresh,  bright  morning,  however,  and 
the  time  passed  pleasantly  as  he  reflected  over  his  expe- 
riences. There  was  no  doubt  about  it;  things  had  gone 
extremely  well.  If  this  luck  could  continue  thus,  he  wouldn't 
grumble,  and  as  he  thought  of  the  many  more  happy  moments 
he  would  spend  in  Carsdale  Mansions,  he  said,  "John,  my 
boy,  you've  not  been  doing  badly."  Perhaps  it  would  have 
been  pleasanter  not  to  have  been  turned  out  at  that  early 
hour  amid  the  dust  of  doorstep  sweepings,  but  that  was  a 
mere  trifle.  How  tender  she  had  been  when  he  had  left  her ! 
How  pretty  she  had  looked  in  the  faint  light  of  her  room, 
with  her  long  silk-like  hair  falling  over  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
as  she  had  opened  him  the  door,  ever  so  regretfully !  Yes, 
all  that  was  extremely  satisfactory. 

When  it  was  nearly  eight,  he  returned  to  the  station  and 
ordered  a  modest  breakfast — being  forced  to  be  economical, 
not  knowing  how  he  was  to  obtain  fresh  supplies.  This 
want  of  money,  he  knew,  was  the  true  weakness  of  his 
position,  and  it  was  always  leading  him  into  awkward 
straits. 

While  he  was  eating,  he  unfolded  the  packet  of  morning 
papers,  which  he  had  bought  at  the  bookstall,  to  see  what 
mention  had  been  made  of  the  meeting  of  the  previous 
evening.  All,  with  the  exception  of  the  Standard,  contained 
accounts  of  the  proceedings,  and  to  his  delight  he  saw  that, 
not  only  had  his  little  speech  on  education  been  reported 
almost  verbatim,  but  one  of  the  chief  liberal  organs  had 
devoted  a  leaderette  to  it.  Unfortunately,  to  mar  his  joy, 
the  paragraph  ended  thus :  "  We  have  not  heard  of  this  Mr. 
Johns  before,  but  it  must  be  admitted  that  his  views  on 
education,  if  somewhat  too  Utopian,  are  not  deficient  either 


.  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  77 

in  force  or  clearness."  This  last  sentence  he  did  not  like. 
It  annoyed  him  to  be  called  "this  Mr,  Johns,"  and  that  it 
should  be  pubUshed  to  the  world  that  he  was  an  unknown 
man.  He  swore  that  some  day  they  should  hear  of  him 
till  their  ears  ached.  This  Mr.  Johns,  indeed !  Let  them 
wait  till  he  got  a  chance! 

When  he  had  finished  his  breakfast  it  was  still  early ;  but  he 
calculated  that,  if  he  walked  slowly,  he  would  reach  the  office 
at  a  convenient  hour,  and  he  would  be  able  to  stop  at  a  barber's 
upon  the  way  in  order  to  be  shaved.  For  it  would  not  do  to 
look  disreputable  after  his  success,  and  a  success  it  was 
undoubtedly,  in  spite  of  the  qualified  praise  of  the  leaderette. 
He  felt  as  proud  as  the  day  when  he  had  seen  his  first  article 
in  print,  and  he  looked  at  the  people  he  met,  in  the  face,  with 
the  calm  demeanour  of  a  man  who  has  done  **  something 
big." 

And  then,  after  ten  minutes  spent  in  a  hairdresser's  shop  in 
the  Strand,  he  made  his  way  to  the  office  of  the  paper. 

The  first  to  congratulate  him  was  Maskelyne,  whom  he  met 
upon  the  stairs. 

"  You  were  splendid,"  he  said.  "  Voice,  gesture,  and  ideas 
were  all  admirable." 

Johns,  to  whom  praise  was  as  ambrosia,  said,  "  I  hit  it  off 
pretty  well,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  have  been  better !  I've  written  it  up  for  you  in 
to-day's,  and  if  Boyd  lets  all  I've  written  pass,  you  won't  have 
cause  to  grumble." 

Johns  said,  "  I'll  remember  it." 

A  little  higher  up  the  stairs  he  met  Coulston,  who  said,  in  a 
tone  which  was  not  free  from  sarcasm,  "  So,  I  hear  you  made 
a  remarkable  oration  last  night  at  Aldgate." 

Johns  answered,  "  I  made  a  speech  which  has  been  remarked ; 
that  was  all,  Coulston." 

He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  saying  •*  Mr.  Coulston  "  to  the 
sub-editor,  but  he  intentionally  dropped  the  "Mr."  to  mark 
familiarity,  equality,  indifference. 

Coulston  passed  along  without  answering,  and  Johns  reached 
Tarte's  room. 

The  old  man  was  looking  over  manuscripts.  He  glanced 
up  as  Johns  entered. 

"Demosthenes,"  he  said,  "spoke  only  for  his  country's 
good.     Did  you,  last  night,  do  likewise  ?  " 

Johns  answered,  "  Did  you  think  so  when  you  read  my 
speech  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  read  your  speech." 


78  THE  ADVENTURES 

"Then  I'll  answer  you  when  you  have."  But  he  added 
afterwards,  •'  All  right,  Tarte ;  we  understand  each  other." 

Towards  mid-day  Dawson  sent  for  Johns,  and,  when  the 
latter  appeared  in  the  private  room,  the  proprietor  rose  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  him." 

"  My  dear  Johns,"  he  said,  "  a  thousand  congratulations.  I 
hear  you  were  quite  brilliant." 

"  They  tell  me  so,"  said  Johns,  coolly. 

"  I  had  no  idea,"  the  proprietor  continued,  *'  you  could  do 
that  sort  of  thing." 

Johns  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know,  I'm  afraid  we  must  really  find  something 
better  for  you  to  do  than  mere  reporting.  I  will  speak  to 
Boyd  about  it  this  very  day  ! " 

In  the  afternoon  Johns  was  called  to  the  editorial  room, 
where  he  found  the  two  chiefs. 

•*  We  have  decided,"  Boyd  commenced,  "  to  offer  you  the 
preparation  of  the  events  column,  jointly  with  Mr.  Coulston, 
who  has  been  for  some  time  endeavouring  to  do  it  single- 
handed  In  this  way  you  will  receive  a  fixed  salary  of,  let  us 
say,  sixteen  pounds  a  month.     Will  that  suit  you  ? " 

"  It  will  suit  me  admirably  for  the  present,"  Johns  replied. 

"  You  see,"  said  Boyd,  turning  to  Dawson,  "  Mr.  Johns  is 
somewhat  ambitious." 

"  Well,"  said  Dawson,  "  I  don't  object  to  that.  It's  often 
good  for  the  paper." 

Johns  asked  for  a  few  days  to  study  his  new  duties,  and  these 
were  granted,  as  well  as  an  additional  advance  of  which,  he 
told  Dawson,  he  was  much  in  need.  He  became  so  much 
absorbed  studying  the  files  of  the  paper  to  make  himself 
familiar  with  the  column  to  which  he  was  henceforth  to  devote 
his  energies  that,  when  the  Saturday  came,  he  was  well-nigh 
forgetting  his  appointment  with  Mrs.  Dawson.  As  soon  as  he 
remembered  it,  however,  he  took  a  hansom  (he  could  afford 
one  now)  and  drove  to  Princes  Gate. 

As  he  approached  the  house  he  recalled  the  few  words  he 
had  exchanged  with  the  wife  of  the  proprietor  after  the  meet- 
ing in  the  hall  at  Aldgate,  and  the  look  of  timid,  yet  ready 
acquiescence  which  he  had  noticed  on  her  face  when  she  had 
consented  to  receive  hini.  He  thought  that  he  must  be  very 
much  mistaken  if  Mrs.  Dawson  was  not  seriously  inclined  to 
fall  in  love  with  him. 

And  if  so,  what  could  he  derive  from  it  ?  Nothing  perhaps 
directly,  but  a  great  deal  indirectly.  Did  he  not  want  to  be 
editor,  and  wouldn't  this  woman's  love,  if  he  obtained  it,  be  '^ 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  79 

splendid  lever  ?  He  knew  by  past  experience  what  a  woman 
in  love  could  do  for  the  man  she  loved,  and  it  would  be 
magnificent  if  he  could  get  rid  of  the  many  obstacles  which 
stood  between  him  and  the  post  he  coveted.  Besides,  Mrs. 
Dawson  was  a  pretty  blonde,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had 
found  her  particularly  attractive  that  evening  at  the  hall.  And 
then  it  was  impossible  that  she  should  be  attached  to  such  an 
old  brute  as  Dawson — quite  impossible.  These  reflections 
lasted  till  his  hansom  stopped  before  the  house. 

The  servants  knew  him  now,  and  had  probably,  he  thought, 
pardoned  the  want  of  orthodoxy  in  his  dress,  for  he  was 
immediately  conducted  to  the  drawing-room,  where  he  found 
Mrs.  Dawson. 

She  was  sitting  near  the  window  reading,  and  her  first  words 
were,  as  she  gave  her  hand — 

"  I  was  beginning  to  think  you  were  not  coming." 

"Not  coming !"  he  repeated  in  a  tone  of  sorrowful  surprise. 
"  You  little  know  me.  You  do  not  know  that  if  Princes  Gate 
had  been  as  diflicult  of  access  as  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc 
on  a  stormy  day,  I  would  not  have  failed  to  come." 

"You  are  always  so  enthusiastic !" 

"Always — when  with  you  !" 

"I  hear,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  going  to  do  something 
more  suited  to  your  ability  at  the  office.  I  told  my  husband 
after  the  meeting  the  other  night  that  it  was  ridiculous  that  you 
should  be  a  reporter  when  you  can  speak  so  well." 

"  And  it  is  then  to  you  that  I  owe  the  sudden  offer  that  they 
made  me !  Ah,  was  I  not  right  a  little  time  ago  when  I  said 
you  were  my  guardian  angel  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  my  share  in  it  was  very  slight.  It  was  your  own 
merit." 

He  gazed  wistfully  into  her  face. 

"  And  you  really  think  I  have  some  little  merit.  Ah,  if  you 
knew  how  your  words  enchant  me,  how  they  give  me  strength 
to  triumph.  I  feel,  when  I  hear  you  speak,  that  there  is 
comfort  in  the  sound  of  your  soft  voice,  solace  in  the  very 
movement  of  your  lips,  promise  in  the  words  they  utter." 

He  paused  a  moment,  for,  before  diving  deeper  into  senti- 
ment, he  wanted  to  know  if  the  coast  was  clear.  Then  he 
continued,  "  And  when  I  see  your  husband  this  afternoon " 

But  she  interrupted  with — 

"  He's  gone  to  Manchester." 

"  Oh,  then  it  doesn't  matter.  Mrs.  Dawson,  shall  I  make 
you  a  confession  ?  " 

"  If  it's  not  anything  I  should  not  hear." 


So  THE  ADVENTURES 

•*  It  is  that  I  am  unhappy  !  You  may  see  no  change  in  me 
perhaps ;  I  may  even  laugh  at  times,  but  I  swear  to  you  that  I 
am  unhappy,  terribly  unhappy." 

"  May  I  know  the  cause  ?" 

"Ah  yes,  you  may.     I  am  hopelessly  in  love!" 

"And  may  I  know  with  whom ?" 

"With  you,  alas!  with  you!" 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  she  moved  in  her  chair  nervously. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  she  tried  to  make 
severe,  "  that  you  had  promised  not  to  say  such  things  to  me 
again." 

He  reflected,  "  If  she  didn't  expect  it,  why  was  she  willing  to 
receive  me  here  alone?"  and  he  said — 

"  There  are  some  promises  which  are  against  nature,  which 
are  beyond  the  power  of  the  will  to  keep.  I  have  done  my 
best.  I  have  wrestled  with  my  longing,  tried  by  every  means  I 
knew  to  silence,  to  subdue  it;  but  in  vain,  in  vain  !  Lucy — oh 
let  me  call  you  Lucy — I  told  you  once  that  you  suggested  those 
fine  lines  from  Haidee,  but  now,  as  I  see  you  there  with  those 
golden  tresses  and  that  perfect  face,  I  say  that  Byron  himself 
never  was  inspired  by  such  charms.  You  asked  me  the  othei 
night  why  I  had  not  been  to  see  you.  Could  you  not  guess 
why  I  kept  away  ?  It  ^was  because  to  see  you,  to  speak  with 
you,  and  to  know  that  you  were  the  wife  of  another  is  torture 
for  me — torture  and  fascination  !  Ah,  if  you  only  knew  how 
many  times  I  started  to  come  here  and  then  turned  back, 
wretched  and  discouraged,  angry  with  the  fate  that  had  ordained 
it  thus !  If  you  only  knew  how  many  sleepless  nights  I've 
spent  thinking  over  it,  lamenting,  wishing  I  had  never  left 
Australia,  or  that  I  had  found  you  free !  You  appeared  to  me 
from  the  first  instant  I  beheld  you  as  the  true  realization  of  my 
dreams.  You  do  not  know  the  power  of  your  beauty.  You  do 
not  know  how  it  has  taken  possession  of  me,  how  it  has  claimed 
me  as  its  own  and  fettered  me  in  chains  that  will  never  break. 
No,  you  do  not  know.  But  when  I  entered  this  room  just 
now  I  felt  that  not  another  hour  should  pass  before  I  had  told 
you  of  my  passion,  before  I  had  entreated  you  to  show  clemency, 
to  have  pity,  and  to  be  merciful." 

He  had  pronounced  the  last  words  supplicatingly,  with  his 
arms  stretched  out  towards  her  in  a  practised  attitude,  but  before 
he  had  finished  speaking,  she  had  risen,  and  stood  undecided, 
looking  away  from  him,  flushed,  and  with  a  frown  upon  her 
forehead. 

"  Mr.  Johns,  I  cannot  listen  to  you.  It's  not  right  of  you  to 
ipeak  to  me  like  this.     It's  the  first  time  anyone  has  said  such 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  8x 

things  to  me.  It's  wrong.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  truly  sorry,  if  you 
are  so — I  mean  if  you  care  for  me  so  much,  but  in  future 
you  must  think  of  me  as  a  friend — a  friend  who  wishes  well 
to  you." 

She  spoke  agitatedly,  almost  confusedly,  and  he  thought, 
"If  she's  on  \h&  friend  tack,  it's  so  much  gained." 

He  said,  "  I  know  I  must  be  mad  to  hope,  to  dream,  and 
yet  I  cannot  help  it.  I  am  as  unable  now  to  cease  loving  you 
as  the  moth  to  refrain  from  flying  round  the  flame.  If  you  tell 
me  that  we  can  never  be  but  friends,  you  crush  me.  My  life 
henceforth  will  have  no  meaning,  will  be  rendered  hateful, 
odious.  The  woman  I  adore  will  be  chained  to  a  man  she 
cannot  love — for  I  know  you  do  not  love  him — while  /  shall  be 
condemned  to  be  a  witness  of  such  sacrilege." 

Quickly  he  drew  near  to  her  and  whispered  in  her  ear — 

"  Lucy,  my  darling  Lucy,  do  not  take  all  hope  away  from  me. 
Leave  me  a  little  ray  so  that  I  may  find  strength  to  go  on 
living.  Think  of  the  unjust  sacrifice  you're  making,  think  of 
its  cruelty,  its  uselessness.  I  cannot,  no,  I  cannot,  look  upon 
that  perfect  form,  those  lovely  eyes,  those  perfect  lips,  without 
feeling  that  my  reason  is  deserting  me,  that  I  am  growing  giddy, 
that  I  must  not,  will  not,  listen  to  any  but  the  voice  of  love." 

He  saw  that  she  was  breathing  fast,  as  if  deeply  moved. 
Thinking  the  moment  opportune,  he  clasped  her  round  the 
waist,  and  tried  to  kiss  her. 

But  he  found,  to  his  disappointment,  that  he  had  gone  too 
fast,  for,  instead  of  submitting,  as  he  had  thought  she  would, 
she  disengaged  herself  with  sudden  energy,  and,  placing  her 
hand  upon  the  bell  knob,  said  excitedly — 

"  If  you  attempt  that,  I'll  ring." 

He  saw  that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  that,  for  the  moment, 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  To  retrieve  himself,  he  cried  in 
a  repentant  tone,  upon  his  knees — 

"  Oh,  forgive  me.  I  was  mad  and  not  able  to  control  my 
passion.  It  was  a  sudden  fit.  I  was  not  responsible.  Say 
that  you  forgive  me." 

"  I  forgive  you,"  she  said  slowly,  and  he  fancied  that  her  eyes 
glistened. 

He  rose,  and,  after  pressing  her  hand  in  silence,  left. 


CHAPTER 
SIXTH 

WHEN  Johns  left  Princes  Gate,  he  felt  that  he  had 
risked  much.  He  had  not  expected  so  much  firm- 
ness on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Dawson.  She  had  appeared  to 
him  in  the  light  of  a  woman  tied  to  a  man  much  older  than 
herself  and  of  coarser  origin.  He  had  considered  that  she  was 
secretly  regretting  her  enslavement,  and  would  not  refuse  to 
avail  herself  of  an  opportunity  of  making  it  less  hard  to  bear. 
But  instead  of  that,  she  had  made  a  show  of  virtue,  had 
silenced  him  by  threatening  to  ring  the  bell !  The  mistake  was 
certainly  annoying,  and  he  scarcely  knew  what  its  effects  would 
be.  There  was  the  danger  of  her  refusing  to  receive  him  now, 
and  that  would  seriously  upset  his  plans,  impede  his  progress. 
Why,  then,  had  he  been  so  hasty?  Why  had  he  not  shown 
more  patience  and  more  prudence?  Why  had  he  not  been 
more  skilful  ?  Well,  he  hadn't,  and  that  was  all  about  it.  He 
wasn't  going  to  quarrel  with  himself. 

And  as  he  reflected  over  it  in  bed  that  night,  he  reviewed 
the  behaviour  of  the  wife  of  the  proprietor  towards  him  since 
he  had  known  her.  He  thought  of  the  mildness  of  her  rebuke 
after  his  first  attack,  the  readiness  with  which  she  had  consented 
to  receive  him,  and  he  remembered  a  certain  softness  in  the 
expression  of  her  eyes  when  she  was  speaking.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  after  all  he  had  not  much 
to  fear.  He  had  studied  women  well  enough  to  know  that  his 
protestations  of  undying  love  could  not  have  been  entirely  in 
vain;  that  it  was  impossible  that  some  of  them  had  not 
flattered,  if  they  had  not  moved  her.  For  that  reason  alone,  he 
was  sure  that  she  would  refrain  from  telling  her  husband  a  word 
of  what  had  passed.  No,  that  she  would  not  do.  He  could 
feel  easy  on  that  score.     Perhaps,  indeed,  she  had  been  more 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  83 

strongly  hit  than  he  suspected.  Did  one  ever  know  with 
women  ?  and  was  not  the  very  moment  when  they  were  upon 
the  point  of  giving  way  often  the  time  when  they  seemed  most 
firm  ?  Who  could  tell  ?  The  morality  of  women  depended  so 
much  on  circumstances  !  Educate  them  more  ?  No,  by  God, 
he  wasn't  in  favour  of  that  notion. 

Still,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  method  which  had  suc- 
ceeded with  Mrs.  Weber  was  not  the  one  he  ought  to  have 
employed  with  Mrs.  Dawson.  The  conditions  were  not  the 
same.  The  wife  had  more  to  lose  than  the  widow,  and  there- 
fore he  should  have  been  more  careful.  Although  in  reality,  as 
long  as  there  was  no  harm  done  to  his  own  prospects,  her 
severity  didn't  matter  so  very  much.  It  would  certainly  have 
been  easier  if  he  had  had  chambers  somewhere.  He  could 
have  asked  her  to  come  to  see  his  curios,  his  photographs,  his 
trophies,  and  if  she  had  come — oh,  then,  the  result  would 
hardly  have  been  doubtful. 

Yes.  he  must  move  to  better  quarters  as  soon  as  he  could 
afford  it.  He  was  sick  of  the  squalid  meanness  of  his  surround- 
ings. He  must  change  them  as  soon  as  possible.  If  he  could 
only  raise  ;^5o,  that  would  put  him  on  a  better  footing  and 
enable  him  to  decently  equip  himself.  Of  course,  his  salary 
would  be  a  little  higher  now;  but  he  would  have  so  long  to 
wait  before  he  would  be  paid,  and  he  was  weary  of  the  expe- 
dients he  was  forced  to  use.  He  wanted  to  be  fed  decently 
and  to  be  lodged  decently. 

The  next  morning  being  Sunday,  he  asked  himself  what  he 
should  do;  whether  he  should  call  on  Mrs.  Dawson  in  the 
afternoon  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  or  whether  he  should  let 
a  little  time  elapse  before  going  to  her  house  again.  After 
mature  reflection,  he  decided  to  take  the  latter  course. 

In  the  afternoon,  however,  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
longing  to  see  Mrs.  Weber,  and  although  he  had  made  no 
appointment  for  that  day,  he  decided  he  would  call  on  the 
chance  of  finding  her  at  home.  He  was  prompted,  also, 
by  a  kind  of  curiosity  to  know  where  she  was,  and  if  possible 
what  she  was  doing  on  an  afternoon  when  she  did  not  expect 
him. 

When  he  arrived  at  Carsdale  Mansions  he  was  told  that 
Mrs.  Weber  was  at  home,  and  on  entering  the  drawing-room  he 
found  Parker  with  her.  They  were  seated  before  a  little  table 
on  which  was  a  liqueur  stand,  and  were  smoking  cigarettes. 

Johns  fancied  that  she  started  slightly  when  he  was  an- 
nounced, but  she  rose  at  once  and  welcomed  him  as  she  would 
have  welcomed  an  acquaintance  who  had  called  by  chance. 


84  THE  ADVENTURES 

Parker,  although  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  Johns,  did  nol 
seem  to  the  young  man  to  be  much  pleased  with  his  visit,  and 
for  some  time,  while  they  were  speaking  of  the  meeting  and  the 
prospects  of  the  radicals,  there  was  a  reserve  which  was  the 
more  apparent  because  they  did  their  best  to  hide  it. 

Occasionally  the  conversation  drooped,  and  there  was  a 
silence  which  Mrs.  Weber  would  break  by  starting  a  new  topia 
Now  and  then,  also,  Johns  surprised  Parker,  whom  he  was 
watching  narrowly,  casting  a  furtive  glance  at  the  clock  upon 
the  mantelpiece.  But  Johns,  who  wanted  to  remain  after 
Parker  left,  began  an  explanation  of  the  lecture  he  was  pre- 
paring, and  which,  he  said,  was  to  be  called  The.  Spirit  of  the 
True  Radical.  He  meant  to  embody  in  it  all  the  principles  of 
the  leaders  of  the  party  during  the  last  ten  years,  and  to  add 
some  observations  of  his  own. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Parker,  though  with  less  enthusiasm  than 
he  generally  evinced.     "  You  can't  do  better." 

Johns  thought,  "He's  sure  of  his  election,  and  he  doesn't 
trouble  about  me  now." 

He  pretended  to  be  perfectly  oblivious  that  he  was  in  the 
way,  as  he  suspected  that  he  might  be,  and  when  half  an  hour 
had  been  thus  spent,  Parker  left,  after  ceremoniously  taking 
leave  of  Mrs.  Weber. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  member  for  North 
Aldgate,  Johns  took  the  seat  which  he  had  just  vacated. 
Without  alluding  to  Parker's  presence  there  that  afternoon, 
he  said,  gravely — 

"  I  came,  Ellen,  to  tell  you  something  that  will  trouble  you, 
I  fear." 

"  Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  exclaimed,  anxiously. 

"  I'm  thinking  of  returning  to  Australia." 

"  Of  returning  to  Australia !"  she  repeated,  as  if  she  did  not 
realize  his  meaning. 

"  Listen,  Ellen.  I've  been  reflecting  since  Thursday,  when 
I  left  you  after  so  much  happiness  !  so  much  happiness !  that 
journalism  here  is  a  poor  trade,  since  I'm  actually  in  want  of  a 
miserable  ;^so  to  pay  my  creditors.  I  feel  a  strong  repugnance 
to  speak  of  such  things  to  you,  but  if  I  did  not,  you  might 
think  I  was  hiding  something  from  you.  When  I  came  over, 
I  had  spent  nearly  all  I  had,  and  although  I  haven't  been 
here  many  months,  I've  been  obliged  to  run  up  bills  and  to 
contract  debts  which  must  be  paid.  At  present  I  can't  pay 
them,  and  for  a  paltry  sum  I'm  to  be  condemned  to  lose,  or  to 
no  longer  see,  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved.  My  fate  is 
indeed  hud." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  8^ 

She  burst  out  laughing. 

"  And  it's  for  the  enormous  sum  of  ;^5o  that  you,  with  your 
abilities,  are  thinking  of  giving  up  the  game !  John,  you've 
been  too  many  days  away  from  me,  and  you've  been  worrying 
about  trifles  as  men  sometimes  do.  What  is  ;^5o,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  You'll  have  to  let  me  lend  that  large  amount  at 
25  per  shent." 

He  answered,  still  with  gravity,  "I  thought  you  knew  me 
better,  Ellen,  than  to  speak  like  that." 

"  But  it's  ridiculous.  Everybody  says  that  you'll  get  on.  It's 
only  a  question  of  a  little  time.  You  really  must  let  me  be 
your  usurer  for  once." 

But  he  knit  his  brow. 

'*  Ellen,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  speak  of  that  ag?in." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  she  .said,  "  At  all  events 
you're  not  off  by  the  next  boat.  I'm  not  going  to  despair.  I 
know  it  will  be  all  right.  For  ;^5o  !  It's  too  ridiculous !  No, 
my  Johnnie,  you're  my  property,  and  all  the  creditors  in  the 
world " 

He  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  Ellen,  my  little  Ellen,  whatever  happens  I  shall  always  love 
you !» 

She  whispered  presently,  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were 
coming,  John  ?  I  wouldn't  have  promised  to  dine  this  evening 
with  the  Dawsons !" 

*'  Talking  of  them,"  she  added ;  "  do  you  know,  I  believe 
you've  made  an  impression  on  Lucy,  you  dreadful  monster. 
She  looks  quite  peculiar  when  I  speak  of  you,  and  she  gener- 
ally tries  to  change  the  subject.  That's  a  pretty  sure  sign,  you 
know.  If  she  weren't  married  and  so  strictly  principled,  I 
should  be  inclined  to  be  a  little  jealous." 

"Jealous  of  Mrs.  Dawson  !"  he  said,  deprecatingly.  "That 
would  be  indeed  folly !" 

"  Who  knows  !  If  I  were  a  man,  I  think  she  would  attract 
me." 

He  stayed  with  her  until  it  was  time  for  her  to  get  ready  for 
the  Dawsons,  but  before  he  left  they  arranged  to  dine  together 
on  the  Wednesday. 

As  he  was  leaving  she  enquired,  "  Do  you  still  wish  to  have 
your  letters  addressed  to  the  office  of  the  paper?" 

"It's  just  as  well,"  he  answered,  "in  fact,  it's  more  con- 
venient." 

In  the  street,  as  he  was  walking  home,  thinking  over  what 
had  passed,  he  muttered,  "  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  say  a 
hundred,"  and  he  was  ill-humoured  all  the  evening  at  the 


86  THE  ADVENTURES 

thought.  Returning  home  early,  after  dinner,  he  went  to  bed 
at  once. 

The  next  morning  he  began  his  new  work  at  the  office.  It 
was  his  duty  to  make  comments,  chiefly  on  politicians  and 
political  events,  in  strict  accordance  with  the  paper's  tone.  It 
was  necessary  that  all  the  acts,  whether  good  or  bad,  of  the 
opposition  should  be  held  up  to  ridicule  or  to  contempt ;  and 
that  the  errors  of  the  radicals  should  be  converted  into  proofs 
of  wisdom.  The  theory  was  that  the  "  party "  was  nevei 
wrong,  and  its  opponents  never  right,  and  Johns  grasped  that 
readily.  Not  only  did  he  show  ingenuity  in  working  round 
his  subject,  but  he  also  evidenced  a  capacity  for  "  hitting 
hard,"  which  Tarte  prophesied  would  worry  the  rival  organs. 
This  new  employment  had  the  advantage  of  bringing  him 
into  touch  with  the  members  of  the  staff,  and  it  ga\e  him 
access  to  the  editorial  room.  Coulston  was  by  no  means 
pleased  with  it,  but  Johns  performed  his  work  without 
troubhng  himself  about  him,  and  Boyd,  since  the  Aldgate 
meeting,  seeing  the  favour  in  which  he  was  held  by  Dawson, 
was  forced  to  be  more  conciliatory. 

While  Johns  was  engaged  in  scanning  the  papers  on  the 
Tuesday  morning  before  writing  his  paragraphs,  a  messenger 
came  in  and  handed  him  a  letter,  registered.  He  was  not 
surprised  when  he  recognised  the  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Weber  on 
the  blue-marked  envelope.  As  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  he 
opened  it  at  once,  and  a  piece  of  paper  fell  from  it,  which  he 
picked  up  and  unfolded.  It  was  a  Bank  of  England  note  bearing 
the  word  "  fifty  "  in  German  text  in  the  right-hand  corner. 

He  breathed  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  then  read  the  letter, 
which  ran  thus — 

"My  own  Johnnie.  It  is  really  too  ridiculous  that  you 
should  be  worried  for  the  sake  of  fifty  pounds,  and  I  insist — 
mind,  I  insist — on  your  accepting  this  little  note.  If  by  any 
chance  you  were  to  return  it  to  me,  I  would  be  so  deeply  hurt 
that  I  swear  I  would  never  speak  to  you  again. 

"  Remember,  seven  o'clock  on  Wednesday.  Ever  yours, 
Ellen." 

He  placed  the  note  in  his  leather  letter  case,  but  the  letter 
he  tore  into  small  pieces,  which  he  put  into  his  pocket,  pre- 
ferring, as  a  measure  of  precaution,  not  to  trust  them  to  the 
paper  basket. 

Then  he  muttered,  "That's  all  right,"  for  the  feel  of  the 
crisp  bank  note  had  dispelled  the  regret  he  had  felt  at  first  at 
not  saying  he  was  in  need  of  a  larger  sum.  He  experienced  a 
feeling  of  relief.      His   road   now   appeared   to  him  much 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  87 

straighter,  and  that  very  evening,  when  his  work  was  over,  he 
started  westward  in  search  of  better  quarters. 

He  would  have  Hked  to  obtain  rooms  in  the  authentic 
Grafton  Street,  off  Bond  Street,  in  which  he  was  supposed  to 
live,  but  after  a  search,  as  he  was  unable  to  find  any  there,  he 
wandered  about  until,  in  Jermyn  Street,  he  discovered  two  which, 
though  small,  seemed  suitable.  They  were  furnished  with 
more  taste  than  is  usually  to  be  found  in  what  are  termed 
apartments,  as  though  some  festive  bachelor  of  taste  had 
furnished  them  himself.  Johns  engaged  them  without  hesita- 
tion, and  told  the  proprietor  that  he  would  come  in  on  the 
morrow.  No  doubt  the  rent  would  make  a  large  inroad  on  his 
present  income,  but  the  ;£so,  judiciously  expended,  would 
enable  him  to  hold  out  until  his  position  mended.  He  walked 
down  Piccadilly  conscious  that  he  had  an  address  of  which  he 
need  not  be  ashamed,  and  feeling  several  degrees  higher  in  the 
social  scale — now  that  he  was  transformed  into  a  fashionable 
bachelor.  He  had  only  to  find  a  trustful  tailor,  and  the 
transformation  would  be  complete. 

Then,  as  he  was  anxious  not  to  remain  an  hour  longer  than 
was  needful  in  Grafton  Street,  he  hurried  home  to  tell  his 
landlady  of  his  departure  and  to  pack  up  his  belongings.  As 
his  wardrobe  had  increased  since  his  arrival,  the  black  port- 
manteau would  not  suffice,  and  on  the  way  he  stopped  at  a 
shop  and  ordered  a  large  "Gladstone"  to  be  sent  to  him 
immediately. 

His  landlady  received  his  announcement  that  he  was  going 
into  rooms  in  Jermyn  Street  and  that  he  wanted  to  pay  his  bill, 
with  some  astonishment,  for  it  was  not  often  that  her  "  gentle- 
men" left  her  to  go  to  a  more  expensive  neighbourhood.  It 
was  generally  the  other  way,  she  said,  with  a  grin,  as  she  fingered 
the  sovereigns  he  gave  her,  but,  of  course,  it  was  nice  to  rise 
in  the  world,  and  she  hoped  he  would  continue  doing  so. 

When  he  had  packed  everything  ready  to  leave  the  next 
morning,  and  was  going  out  again  to  dine,  he  suddenly  thought 
of  Maggie,  and  at  once  he  felt  a  revival  of  affection  for  the  pale- 
faced  girl  who  seemed  so  lonely.  He  had  not  been  to  see  her 
lately,  and  he  wondered  how  she  was  getting  on.  It  was  only 
right  that  he  should  say  good-bye. 

In  answer  to  his  knock,  a  feeble  voice  invited  him  to  enter. 
He  entered,  and  as  there  was  no  one  in  the  parlour,  he  passed 
on  to  the  next  room. 

In  the  middle  of  a  large  bed,  at  the  side  of  which  was  a  little 
table  bearing  a  medicine  bottle  and  a  glass,  Maggie's  head 
appeared    above  the   covers,   half  hidden  in  a  network  of 


88  THE  ADVENTURES 

dishevelled  hair,  which  spread  itself  upon  the  pillow.  Her 
face  was  thin  and  colourless,  and  her  eyes  sunken.  She  seemed 
to  be  in  pain. 

Johns  approached  the  bedside. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  come  and  see 
me.     Ever  since  Saturday  I  have  been  so  ill ! " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  fit  of  coughing. 

•'  I  caught  a  chill,  and  the  doctor  says  it's  settled  on  my 
chest,  and  he  won't  say  when  I  will  be  better.  Oh,  and  things 
have  been  going  bad  for  me.  Nobody  seems  to  like  me  now. 
And  Mrs.  Reid  says  she  can't  keep  me  if  I  don't  pay  her,  and 
I've  got  no  money,  not  a  farthing." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  pillow  and  began  to  sob. 

John's  features  gave  a  nervous  twitch.  Women's  tears  made 
him  feel  uncomfortable,  and  he  tried  to  find  a  few  words  of 
encouragement. 

"  Why,  Maggie,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  worry  for  a 
cold  ?  Of  course  you'll  be  better  in  a  day  or  two,  and  as  for 
the  money,  my  luck's  been  better  lately,  and  I'm  going  to  make 
you  a  little  present." 

Saying  this,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  his 
purse,  and  taking  two  sovereigns  from  it  he  placed  them  on  the 
table  by  the  bedside. 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  she  murmured,  "  I  thought  you  would  try  to 
help  me  when  you  knew." 

He  stayed  with  her  a  few  minutes  in  the  disordered  room, 
with  its  odour  of  medicine  and  its  air  of  misery,  and  as  he 
looked  at  her,  and  listened  to  her  hollow  cough,  he  con- 
cluded that  her  spell  down  here  would  not  be  long.  Then,  as 
hopeless  cases  of  any  kind  disturbed  him,  he  left  her  without 
saying  that  he  had  come  to  say  good-bye. 

When  he  was  outside  he  said,  "  She's  mistaken  her  vocation 
with  a  vengeance,"  and  he  hurried  off  to  dinner  without  think- 
ing any  more  about  her. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  left  Grafton  Street,  with  his  now 
respectable  new  luggage.  As  the  cab  moved  off  he  gave  a  last 
look  at  the  house  and  mentally  took  leave  of  its  genteel 
shabbiness,  he  hoped  for  ever. 

The  drive  to  Jermyn  Street  represented  in  his  mind  a  trans- 
lation to  a  sphere  of  respectability,  a  kind  of  minor  apotheosis 
presaging  a  greater  one.  When  he  reached  the  house,  he 
entrusted  the  luggage  to  the  valet  at  the  door,  who  received 
him  with  much  deference.  Then  he  hurried  to  the  Strand, 
performed  his  daily  task,  and  in  the  evening  went  to  Aldgate, 
where  he  was  advertised  to  lecture.     There  he  addressed  an 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  89 

appreciative  audience,  in  the  hall  in  which  the  electors'  meeting 
had  been  held,  on  The  Spirit  of  the  True  Radical^  and  his 
address  was  duly  reported  in  the  next  day's  Planet. 

As  he  had  anticipated,  Mrs.  Dawson  had  not  told  her  hus- 
band what  had  passed,  for  the  proprietor  was  friendlier  than 
ever,  often  calling  him  into  his  private  room  to  enquire  how  he 
was  getting  on,  and  chatting  with  him  about  his  project  of 
enlarging  the  paper  by  two  sheets.  Johns  listened  attentively, 
and  offered  a  suggestion  now  and  then,  which  Dawson  received 
with  favour.  Sometimes  Johns  hinted  that  a  larger  circulation 
might  be  reached  under  a  different  system. 

When  the  Wednesday  came,  he  thought  frequently  through- 
out the  day  about  the  attitude  he  was  going  to  adopt  towards 
Mrs.  Weber,  and  when  he  reached  her  door  that  evening,  after 
a  meditative  walk  from  Jermyn  Street,  he  delayed  ringing  until 
he  had  composed  the  countenance  he  had  decided  upon 
wearing.     Then  he  touched  the  knob,  and  was  admitted. 

He  entered  the  drawing-room,  where  the  widow  was  waiting 
tor  him,  with  an  expression  of  great  solemnity.  Advancing 
slowly  towards  her,  he  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

•*  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  since  I  received  your  note  I  have  been 
engaged  in  a  constant  struggle  with  myself.  You  con- 
fronted me  with  two  alternatives — I  must  either  accept  your 
misguided  offer,  or  else  leave  England  and  no  longer  see  you. 
Well,  Ellen,  the  trial  was  too  great.  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  lose  you,  and  you  see  me  here  to-night,  convicted  in  my  own 
eyes  and  perhaps  in  yours." 

But  she  took  his  hands  and  said,  "  My  own  Johnnie,  how 
can  you  say  that !  I  love  you  more  for  the  confidence  you 
have  in  me,  and  for  letting  me  do  the  little  I  can  for  you,  but 
for  Heaven's  sake  say  no  more  about  it,  or  I  shall  feel  that  we 
are  greater  strangers  than  I  thought." 

He  asked  no  better  than  to  say  no  more;  but  he  preserved  a 
certain  thoughtfulness  and  reticence  all  through  the  evening. 
He  told  her  that  he  had  removed  to  a  small  room  in  Jermyn 
Street,  where  rents  were  cheaper,  because  he  wanted  to  econo- 
mise until  he  had  obtained  the  post  he  aimed  at.  But  he 
could  not  receive  her  there,  he  said.  It  was  too  small  and  too 
uncomfortable.  Besides,  had  they  not  found  a  means  of  getting 
over  the  difficulty  of  the  servants?  and  as  for  the  porter  down 
below,  his  discretion  was  secured.  They  had  nothing  to  fear 
— nothing. 

He  did  not  leave,  this  time,  until  two  hours  after  daybreak 
the  next  morning. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Baxter  was  holding  a  reception,  and  as 


90  THE  ADVENTURES 

Mrs.  Weber  had  told  him  that  Mrs.  Dawson  would  be  there, 
Johns  was  not  a  little  curious  to  know  what  attitude  she  would 
adopt  towards  him.  His  own  behaviour,  he  decided,  must  be 
based  on  hers,  and  there  was  no  knowing  what  it  would  prove 
to  be :  he  had  a  feeling  that  she  would  not  be  too  severe, 
though  with  women  one  never  knew.  Of  one  thing  he  fancied 
he  was  sure.  He  thought  he  knew,  with  certainty,  that  when 
a  man  persistently  made  love  to  any  woman,  it  was  almost 
impossible  for  that  woman  to  preserve  herself  from  thinking  of 
that  man.  Involuntary  obsessions,  such  as  these,  often  had  an 
influence  upon  women  of  which  they  were  barely  conscious. 
At  all  events,  he  was  going  to  have  an  opportunity  of  ascer- 
taining. He  really  did  not  care,  very  much,  whether  she 
fell  in  love  with  him  or  not.  He  only  thought  of  her  as  a 
sufficiently  attractive  blonde,  who  might  advance  his  interests. 

Although  the  season  was  drawing  to  its  close,  he  was  begin- 
ning to  receive  invitations  from  the  majority  of  Mrs.  Dawson's 
friends.  Many  of  these — the  unimportant  ones  —  he  had 
declined;  for  he  wanted  to  increase  his  social  value,  and  that, 
he  deemed,  could  be  best  effected  by  showing  himself  exclusive. 
Among  the  few  invitations  that  he  accepted  was  that  of  Mrs. 
Baxter — the  lady  whom  he  had  met,  that  auspicious  evening, 
at  the  Berkeley. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  he  could  leave,  he  made  his  way  to  the 
Baxters'  house  in  Portland  Place. 

He  found,  when  he  entered  the  reception-room,  after  being 
warmly  received  by  Mrs.  Baxter  on  the  threshold,  that  he  had 
come  to  one  of  those  crowded  gatherings  which  seem  designed 
to  flatten,  to  compress  the  unfortunates  for  whose  amusement 
they  are  organized,  and  he  was  imprisoned,  to  his  disgust,  for 
many  minutes  in  a  dense  crowd  of  people  vaguely  Hstening  to 
a  pianist  who  was  invisible  to  most  of  them.  Johns,  on 
account  of  his  short  stature,  felt  himself  buried  in  the  throng, 
and  it  was  in  vain  that  he  stood  upon  tip-toes  to  try  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  either  Mrs.  Weber  or  Mrs.  Dawson.  He  could 
see  nothing  but  the  backs  of  the  people  immediately  before 
him.  This  sort  of  function,  in  which  he  had  no  chance  of 
making  himself  seen  or  heard,  irritated  him  extremely,  and  he 
swore  that  he  would  never  come  to  one  again  unless  it  was 
greatly  to  his  interest  to  do  so. 

When  the  pianist  had  finished  there  was  a  slight  slackening, 
and  it  became  possible  to  make  an  attempt  to  move.  Johns 
took  advantage  of  it  to  disengage  himself,  and  he  was  progress- 
ing slowly  round  the  room,  when,  suddenly,  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Dawson 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  91 

Gravely,  with  that  impressive  gravity  which  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  assume,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her,  saying  with  a  long 
sigh,  "Mrs.  Dawson!" 

Embarrassed,  she  said,  apparently  at  random,  "Isn't  it 
crowded  here  to-day?" 

He  looked  about,  and  seeing  a  recess  which  had  been  con- 
structed on  the  verandah,  said,  "Oppressively!  Let  us  go 
over  yonder."  And  perceiving  that  she  seemed  inclined  to 
follow,  he  made  a  passage  for  her  through  the  throng. 

A  poet  of  the  long-haired  tribe  was  preparing  to  recite,  and 
the  occupants  of  the  recess  were  coming  out  to  listen.  Soon, 
therefore,  they  were  alone,  seated  upon  a  red  divan  amid  the 
foliage  of  some  giant  palms. 

He  did  not  ask  her  if  she  wished  to  listen  to  the  reciter,  but 
exclaimed,  "Ah!  if  you  knew!" 

"What?"  she  asked,  timorously. 

"What  I  have  suffered!     What  I  suffer!" 

She  looked  down  quickly,  and  he  continued,  "But  do  not 
be  afraid.  I  have  struggled  with  myself,  and  I  have  succeeded, 
heaven  knows  with  how  much  pain,  in  subduing,  not  my  feel- 
ings, for  that  is  utterly  impossible,  but  myself!  No,  you  have 
no  need  to  fear.  I  have  disciplined  myself;  I  have  brought 
myself  into  subjection.  I  am  the  most  harmless,  the  most 
humble  of  your  admirers.    Will  you  not  have  confidence  in  me?" 

"  I  want  to  have  confidence  in  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
which  seemed  to  him  to  tremble. 

The  words  of  the  reciter  penetrated  indistinctly  to  them  in  a 
confused  medley  of  sounds  and  rhymes  and  sentiments. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  proof  of  that?"  he  asked. 

"But  how  can  I?" 

"Listen  for  a  moment.  I  want  to  speak  to  you  more 
earnestly,  more  explicitly,  than  I  can  here — in  this  place,  which 
will  be  filled  again  as  soon  as  that  poet  stops.  Not,  believe 
me,  to  cause  you  the  slightest  apprehension — that  is  all  over 
now — but  I  entreat  you,  I  implore  you,  to  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  telling  you  all  that  I  have  in  my  heart  to  say,  all  that 
I  must  say  some  day  if  I  am  to  relieve  my  mind  of  the  weight 
which  burdens  it.  I  feel  that  you  will  not  refuse  to  tell  me 
where  to  meet  you,  what  day,  what  hour.  Choose  the  place 
that  suits  you  best,  be  it  park  or  picture  gallery,  or  where  you 
will,  but  tell  me  quickly  where  and  when.  If  you  refuse,  this 
will  be  the  last  time  you  will  see  me.  Unless  I  have  your 
friendship,  I  shall  go  back  to  Australia." 

She  looked  troubled,  anxious,  and  replied,  "  But  it's  impos- 
sible, how  can  I  ?  " 


92  THE  ADVENTURES 

"You  can  meet  me  to-morrow  at  the  National  Gallery  at 
four." 

"Oh,  how  could  I?" 

*'  That  poet  will  have  finished  in  a  moment.  I  entreat  you, 
I  implore  you,  to  say  yes  or  no." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  ask  it." 

"  Yes  or  no  ?  " 

«  Must  I  really  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  murmured,  quickly,  "  you  have  taken  a  sad  weight 
off  my  mind  !  You  have  given  me  new  hope,  you  will  not 
regret  that  you  have  agreed  to  come.  You  will  never  have 
reason  to  regret  it — never  ! " 

"  But  remember,  if  I  consent  to  come,  it  is  only  because  you 
have  given  me  your  word  that  you  will  not  speak  to  me  again 
as  you  did  last  time  we  met." 

He  thought,  "  She's  getting  tedious  with  her  virtue,"  and  he 
said,  "  Alas,  yes !  I  have  bound  myself  in  fetters.  Those 
fetters  I  shall  never  break." 

But  at  that  moment  there  was  a  slight  rustle  amid  the  palms 
at  the  entrance  of  the  recess,  and  Mrs.  Weber,  escorted  by 
Parker,  entered. 

As  Johns  rose,  the  widow  gave  him  a  sharp  glance  which, 
after  scrutinizing  him,  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Dawson.  Johns  met 
it  by  a  calm  smile  and  a  look  which  included  the  widow  and 
the  politician. 

After  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  Parker  said  to  Johns, 
"  Mr.  Johns,  it  is  often  my  duty  to  congratulate  you  now.  I 
hear  your  lecture  was  very  well  received." 

Johns  answered,  "Very  well.  The  gentlemen  of  Aldgate 
are  more  appreciative  than  I  thought." 

Then,  as  by  this  time  the  recitation  was  over  and  the  recess 
was  beginning  to  be  filled,  Parker,  who  seemed  to  consider  it 
incumbent  on  him  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Dawson,  took  a  seat  beside 
her,  and  Johns  another  next  to  Mrs.  Weber.  And  as  the  con- 
versation in  the  already  filled  recess  had  become  noisy,  the 
widow  was  able  to  say  to  Johns  without  being  overheard,  "  So 
you  preferred  solitude  to  poetry  this  afternoon." 

He  answered  quietly,  "  Like  you." 

She  glanced  at  him  enquiringly,  suspiciously,  and  asked, 
"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

He  answered,  smiling,  "  Not  more  than  you,  by  your  first 
question." 

Then  he  whispered  almost  in  her  ear,  "  Don't  be  silly,  Ellen !" 

For  some  moments  she  was  silent,  while  he  was  thinking,  **  I 
must  steer  carefully  to-day." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  93 

Why  Parker  was  so  often  with  her  he  did  not  seek  to  know. 
There  might  be  one  reason,  there  might  also  be  another.  For 
the  moment  it  didn't  matter.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  find 
out  later  on.  He  continued  presently,  "  I  was  looking  for  you 
everywhere,  but  in  that  crush  I  could  not  find  you,  and  now  I'm 
obliged  to  get  back  to  the  ofl&ce,  as  I'm  over  head  and  ears  in 
work." 

"  Till  Wednesday  then,"  she  said. 

"  Till  Wednesday." 

Johns  excused  himself  to  Mrs.  Dawson  and  to  Parker,  and 
stopped  on  his  way  out  to  say  a  few  words  to  his  hostess  and 
to  her  ugly  daughter.  Then  he  left,  and  walked  home  satisfied 
with  his  afternoon. 

He  scarcely  imagined  that  Mrs.  Dawson  seriously  believed 
he  would  have  carried  out  his  threat  of  leaving  England  if  she 
had  refused  to  meet  him,  and  the  fact  of  her  accepting  the 
excuse  as  easily  as  she  had  done  proved,  he  thought,  that  there 
was  just  that  balance  of  desire  which  he  had  often  remarked 
on  the  part  of  women. 

On  the  morrow,  although  he  had  not  had  time  to  be  dressed 
by  the  tailor  in  his  street  from  whom  he  had  ordered  a  com- 
plete wardrobe,  he  composed  a  fairly  presentable  exterior  with 
a  new  silk  hat  and  patent  boots.  Having  finished  his  work 
early,  he  left  the  office  shortly  after  half-past  three,  and  humed 
along  the  Strand.  When  he  reached  the  Gallery,  he  mounted 
the  long  flight  of  steps,  two  at  a  time,  in  his  anxiety  to  avoid 
being  recognised  by  anyone  passing  in  the  street.  Beneath  the 
peristyle  he  asked  himself  whether  he  should  wait  for  her  in  the 
vestibule  or  at  the  entrance  to  the  first  room,  up  above.  After 
a  moment's  reflection  he  decided  on  the  latter  course.  He 
entered,  therefore,  and  mounting  to  the  first  floor,  took  up  his 
position  behind  a  glass-paneled  door,  whence  he  could  see  the 
entrance  wickets. 

His  feelings  were  by  no  means  as  intense  as  the  day  when  he 
had  waited  for  the  widow  at  Victoria ;  but  still  he  watched  the 
entrance  narrowly,  and  scrutinized  the  ladies  who  came  in  alone. 
Some  entered  hesitatingly,  with  the  demure  air  of  women  going 
to  a  rendezvous,  casting  side-glances  as  they  ascended  the 
marble  staircase.  Others  passed  up  quickly,  looking  straight 
before  them  and  disappearing  in  the  Galleries.  Johns  thought, 
"  I'm  not  the  only  one  who's  expecting  an  inamorata"  Bands 
of  foreign  tourists,  Baedekers  in  hand,  their  travelling  bags 
strapped  across  their  shoulders,  were  ascending  the  wide  stair- 
case, looking  around  them  with  that  lost  air  peculiar  to  tourists. 
Little  shop  assistants,  out  of  work,  carrying  a  book  or  journal 


94  THE  ADVENTURES 

with  which  to  pass  a  quiet  hour  in  the  Galleries,  were  descend- 
ing leisurely,  and  a  few  youths  with  dirty  hands  and  faces  moved 
along  as  if  in  awe  at  the  impressive  architecture.  Some  entered 
through  the  entrance  above  which  Johns  was  standing.  Others 
went  in  by  one  of  the  doors  on  either  side.  As  Johns  was 
pacing  to  and  fro  before  the  door,  one  of  the  custodians  in 
uniform  was  eyeing  him  with  apparent  curiosity,  guessing, 
no  doubt,  the  reason  of  his  presence  there ;  while  from  the 
Galleries  beyond  came  the  clattering  sound  of  footsteps  on  the 
hard  oak  floor. 

At  length,  after  he  had  been  waiting  for  at  least  ten  minutes, 
he  saw  a  lady  pass  through  the  wicket  hurriedly,  and  recog- 
nizing Mrs.  Dawson,  he  hastened  down  the  stairs  to  meet  her. 
Without  giving  him  her  hand,  she  said,  "Let  us  go  quickly 
where  we  won't  meet  anyone." 

He  answered,  "  I  know  the  exact  spot,"  and  he  led  her  in 
silence  through  the  fine  Renaissance  galleries  to  a  little  room 
which,  being  devoted  to  mediaeval  art,  attracted  but  few 
visitors. 

Around  them  on  the  walls  were  paintings  in  the  strangest 
of  perspective.  Knights  in  armour,  lance  in  hand,  were  riding 
towards  weird  castles  which  seemed  to  be  suspended  from  the 
clouds  of  an  ultra-marine  firmament.  Monks  on  their  bended 
knees  were  beholding  fat-faced  angels  in  the  sky.  Virgins,  with 
and  without  the  Child,  were  depicted,  some  with  joyous,  some 
with  sorrowful  expressions.  Martyred  Christs  and  holy  men 
were  shown  before  the  farthest  of  receding  backgrounds.  There 
were  gilded  triptychs  and  quaint  ecclesiastical  presentments. 

Leaning  against  the  hand-rail  before  the  portrait  of  an  ascetic 
saint  in  a  gothic  frame,  Johns  said,  pointing  to  the  picture,  "  Is 
not  this  art  of  the  middle  ages  wonderful?  Look  at  that 
saintly  man,  look  at  the  serenity,  the  magnanimity,  the  grandeur 
which  is  depicted  on  his  placid  countenance!  Does  he  not 
really  seem  to  be  a  man  far  more  than  human  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  he  does,"  she  answered,  "but  what  was  it,  Mr. 
Johns,  that  you  were  so  anxious  to  see  me  for  to-day  ?  You 
said,  you  know,  that  you  had  something  to  say  to  me — some- 
thing that  would  be  different  from  anything  you've  said  as 
yet" 

"  Eternal  curiosity ! "  he  thought,  and  answered,  "  Yes,  Mrs. 
Dawson,  yes,  I  did.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  from  the  day  I 
met  you,  my  life,  my  being  has  completely  changed.  Till  then 
I  had  hovered  from  one  ideal,  from  one  admiration  to  another, 
vaguely,  wantonly,  and  lightly — satisfying  mere  whims  and 
fancies,   always  realizing  their  hollowness,  their  transcience. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  95 

But  from  the  day  I  met  you  I  knew  that  I  was  definitely 
chained  to  one  ideal ,  I  knew  that  I  should  never  in  the  world 
find  one  more  perfect.  What  then  did  I  do  ?  I  told  you  of 
the  love  which  had  come  to  me,  I  spoke  of  the  divine  feeling 
of  which  I  had  grown  conscious,  I  endeavoured  to  excite  your 
pity.  But  you  were  as  inflexible  as  adamant.  You  bade  me 
choose  one  of  two  sad  alternatives.  Either  I  must  treat  you  as 
a  friend,  or  I  must  never  speak  to  you  again !  Rather  than 
lose  the  ideal  I  had  found,  I  accepted  the  hard  conditions, 
and  it  is  as  friends  to-day  that  we  are  here  together.  But 
friendship  is  of  many  kinds,  and  it  was  to  tell  you  how  I 
understand  it  that  I  entreated  you  to  come.  Only  one  great 
boundless  friendship  can  satisfy,  can  comfort  me.  A  friend- 
ship as  perfect  as  you  are  perfect,  indissoluble  as  long  as  we 
have  life,  a  friendship  in  which  a  sweet  community  of  thought, 
a  perfect  confidence  will  reign.  Convinced  as  you  are  now 
that  you  can  trust  me,  you  will  tell  me  all  your  cares  and  I 
will  tell  you  mine.  A  rare  and  beautiful  reciprocity  of  feeling 
will  grow  up  between  us,  which  will  help  us  both  to  live,  which 
will  relieve  the  burdens  we  both  have  to  bear.  Whenever  we 
are  alone  together,  and  I  hope  that  now  it  will  be  often,  we  will 
call  each  other  by  our  Christian  names,  we  will  have  no  secrets 
from  each  other,  we  will  live  in  the  firm  hope  that  one  day  we 
will  be  united." 

Unable  to  think  of  any  more  variations  of  the  same  air,  he 
stopped,  turning  the  gaze  of  his  piercing  eyes  upon  her. 

•'  That,"  he  said,  "  was  what  I  had  to  tell  you  ! " 

She  continued  looking  at  the  picture  of  the  saint,  and  after 
a  lengthy  pause,  which  Johns  refrained  from  interrupting,  said, 
"  Oh,  but  is  not  that  a  dangerous  kind  of  friendship  ?  " 

"  Not  now !     Not  now ! " 

•'  I've  told  you  that  I  want  to  trust  you,  haven't  I  ?  " 

"  You  have,  you  have." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  try  to  ofi'er  you  that  friendship,  and  it 
will  be  your  fault  if  I  don't  succeed." 

"Oh,  Lucy,  Lucy,"  he  exclaimed,  "how  happy  you  have 
made  me ! " 

"Have  I  really? John." 

"That's  promising,"  he  thought,  and  he  began  to  tell  hei 
how  they  would  arrange  to  meet  as  often  as  they  could,  so  thai 
the  sacred  flame  of  friendship,  as  he  called  it,  should  never  for 
one  moment  flicker.  They  would  accept  the  same  invitations, 
go  to  the  same  theatres,  to  the  same  shows,  and  there  would 
be  a  feeling  of  association,  of  companionship,  which  would  be 
subtle  and  intense — a  feeling  such  as  only  higher  minds  cou?d 


96  THE  ADVENTURES 

know.  And  then,  if  they  grew  tired  of  meeting  always  before 
strangers,  before  whom  they  could  not  talk  even  in  the  language 
of  pure  friendship  lest  it  might  be  misconstrued,  they  might  try 
to  meet  somewhere  where  they  would  not  be  troubled  by,  per- 
haps, malicious  listeners.  And  since  he  was  speaking  of  such 
a  possibility,  why  should  he  not  tell  her  that  he  had  a  pleasant 
little  sitting-room  in  Jermyn  Street,  where  they  might  meet, 
and  where  he  had  some  curiosities  he  longed  to  show  her,  some 
photographs  which  he  wanted  her  to  see.  And  after  all,  why 
should  they  hesitate,  why  should  they  defer  the  realization  of 
a  project  which  was  harmless  and  so  natural  ?  "Why  should 
she  not  pay  him  a  little  visit  the  very  next  afternoon — between 
five  and  six,  as  a  diversion  from  her  shopping?  How  she 
would  be  welcomed  and  respected !  And  how  he  would  be 
gladdened !     Oh,  why  should  it  not  be  ?     Yes,  let  it  be ! 

For  some  minutes  he  waited  for  her  answer,  looking  intently 
at  her,  guessing  the  struggle  which  was  taking  place  in  her 
woman's  conscience,  feeling  that  success  was  already  half 
assured. 

Presently  she  said,  *'  I  wonder  if  I  might !  But  think  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  if  I  were  seen !  Who  would  believe  that 
it  was  merely  as  a  friend  ?  " 

He  thought,  "  Who  indeed!"  and  answered,  "  But  no  one  will 
see  you,  Lucy,  no  one.  A  bootmaker  has  a  shop  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  one  entrance  serves  for  both.  The  street  is  as  quiet 
as  any  in  a  country  town.     There's  no  risk,  absolutely  none." 

"  But  someone  might  call  to  see  you ! " 

"  They  wouldn't  be  admitted.  Every  precaution  shall  be 
taken." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  I  should  ?  " 

"  Ah,  it  will  be  such  a  charity ! " 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I'll  try ;  but  mind,  if  any- 
thing should  happen,  I'll  never  come  again." 

He  thought,  "She's  precious  willing";  ana  once  again  he 
reassured  her,  telling  her  that  her  reputation  would  be  as  dear 
as  her  friendship  to  him  ;  that  he  would  guard  it  so  jealously — 
so  jealously  that  not  the  slightest  breath  of  a  suspicion  would 
ever  be  allowed  to  tarnish  it.  Oh,  she  need  not  fear.  He 
would  promise  that  she  would  be  without  reproach. 

And,  either  because  she  was  convinced,  or  because  she  wished 
to  seem  so,  she  told  him  that  she  would  place  herself  confidently 
in  his  hands,  and  that  he  might  rely  upon  her  coming. 

He  told  her  the  number  of  the  house,  the  hour  at  which  he 
would  be  there  to  meet  her,  and  then,  as  the  mediaeval  saints 
possessed  no  further  interest  for  them,  and  as  Mrs.  Dawson  had 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  97 

to  meet  her  husband  at  a  jeweller's  in  Bond  Street,  after  a  few 
more  assurances  of  confidence,  he  led  her  back  to  the  great 
staircase,  at  the  top  of  which  they  parted. 

Left  alone,  Johns,  as  soon  as  she  had  disappeared,  gave  vent 
to  a  little  laugh.  "  And  I,"  he  said,  "  who  was  almost  taking 
her  in  earnest  the  other  day.  They're  all  alike — all  semi- 
conscious beings,  longing  for  what  they  fear,  always  to  be 
overcome  by  patience  and  a  few  fine  words  !  " 

As  he  waited  for  Mrs.  Dawson  the  next  afternoon  in  his  little 
parlour,  he  thought  over  his  adventure.  Whither  would  it  lead 
him  ?  Save  that  he  was  confident  that  the  quickest  road  to 
fortune  was  through  women,  he  had  no  very  definite  idea. 

Women  possessed  a  power  of  facilitating  men's  careers. 
Their  love  was  often  one  of  the  best  of  levers  to  success. 
He  was  resolved  to  follow  out  this  episode  to  its  conclusion. 

And  then,  was  not  Mrs.  Dawson  pretty  ?  And  ought  he  not 
to  think  himself  extremely  fortunate  to  have  won  her — or  nearly 
won  her — for  he  hoped  she  would  not  weary  him  with  much 
more  virtue  now.  Virtue  was  well  during  the  preliminary 
stages,  but  it  must  not  be  carried  to  extremes — not  certainly 
after  a  woman  had  consented  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  man  in  his  own 
rooms.  Surely  she  would  have  sense  enough  to  perceive  that, 
and  not  waste  time  over  that  platonic  nonsense  for  which  he 
had  no  taste — which  he  held  to  be  one  of  the  inconsistencies 
of  Saxons. 

Surveying  his  room  anew,  he  rearranged  the  collection  of 
more  or  less  authentic  Indian  weapons,  which  he  had  bought 
at  an  antiquary's  in  Bloomsbury,  and  which  represented  the 
native  curios  he  was  supposed  to  have  brought  with  him  from 
Australia.  Then  he  sorted  and  put  in  order  a  set  of  coloured 
views  of  places  in  the  island  which  he  had  discovered  at  a 
stationer's  in  Regent  Street. 

These  things  would  serve  as  an  introduction  to  more  tender 
themes,  and  he  was  glad  that  he  had  been  able  to  procure 
them. 

When  the  little  Buhl  clock  upon  the  mantel  told  him  that 
the  hour  had  arrived,  he  Hstened  at  the  door,  which  he  had 
purposely  left  ajar,  for  the  sound  of  ascendmg  footsteps  on  the 
staircase.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  that  she  wished  to 
come ;  but  he  had  a  httle  apprehension  as  the  minutes  passed 
ind  the  staircase  remained  silent,  lest  she  had  been  prevented 
by  one  of  those  many  reasons  which  hinder  women  who  have 
•social  ties. 

But  presently  his  apprehension  vanished,  for  he  heard  a  light 
hurried  step  upon  the  stairs,  accompanied  by  the  rustle  of  a 
H 


98  THE  ADVENTURES 

dress.  A  moment  afterwards  the  footsteps  stopped  upon  his 
landing.  He  opened  the  door  wider,  and  Mrs.  Dawson, 
dressed  in  black  and  wearing  a  thick  veil,  entered. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  as  he  led  her  to  a  seat,  after  divesting  her 
of  her  parasol,  "  I  was  so  terrified  I  might  be  seen." 

He  reassured  her,  and  she  looked  around  the  room. 

"  What  a  charming  little  nook  you  have  !  " 

"  Lucy,  it's  a  poor  place  in  which  to  receive  you ! " 

She  rose  and  made  a  tour  of  scrutiny,  and  after  she  had 
curiously  examined  the  ornaments  upon  the  mantel  shelf — some 
terra-cotta  figures  of  Sicilian  peasants — she  stopped  before  the 
photograph  of  a  lady  in  evening  dress  which  Johns  had  placed 
there  purposely. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  asked,  quickly,  in  a  tone  which  did  not 
sound  quite  free  from  jealousy. 

"  That,"  said  Johns,  "  is  a  portrait  of  my  mother  when  she 
was  young." 

He  said  this,  not  from  a  particular  desire  to  raise  himself 
in  the  social  scale,  but  because  he  had  remarked  that  some 
women  have  more  confidence  in  men  of  whose  families  they 
know  something. 

"Your  mother  was  a  pretty  woman,  then," 'she  said,  and  he 
answered  with  a  sigh,  **  Ah,  yes !" 

"  Is  she  living  now  ?  " 

"  Do  not  ask  me  that ! " 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "I  did  not  know,"  and  then, 
noticing  the  arms  displayed  upon  the  table,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  what  savage  looking  things !  Did  you  bring  them  from 
Australia  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  obtained  them  from  the  descendant  of  a  chief." 

She  took  a  dagger  and  drew  it  from  its  sheath,  then  a  spear- 
head black  with  age,  and  next  a  battle-axe,  the  edge  of  which 
was  jagged  as  if  it  had  been  used  in  war.  Passing  to  the 
photographs,  she  began  to  turn  them  over,  but  he  begged  her 
to  allow  him  to  explain  them.  Leading  her  to  the  long  straight 
sofa,  covered  with  a  leopard's  skin,  he  took  a  seat  beside  her. 
Then,  holding  the  packet  in  his  left  hand,  he  placed  the  views, 
one  by  one,  upon  her  lap,  dealing  them  out  with  a  short 
elucidation,  and  sometimes  a  little  anecdote  drawn  from  his 
experiences.  She  listened  to  him  approvingly,  asking  questions 
now  and  then,  or  expressing  her  admiration.  But  gradually, 
as  he  held  the  photographs  before  her,  he  allowed  his 
hand  to  linger  on  her  lap,  and  as  he  had  observed,  while 
he  was  doing  so,  that  she  looked  away  and  blushed,  when 
he  reached  the  last  he  tarried  longer,  leaning  slightly  over  her. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  99 

He  saw  that  she  became  somewhat  flushed,  and,  thinking 
the  moment  opportune,  without  any  preparation,  he  dropped 
upon  his  knees  beside  her,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
heaving  a  deep  sigh. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked,  nervously. 

"  Oh,"  he  murmured,  "  it's  too  much ! " 

"  What — John  ?  "  she  enquired,  timorously. 

"  The  penance  I  have  imposed  upon  myselt.  It's  more  than 
human  nature  can  endure,  more  than  a  man  can  bear.  It's 
terrible.     It's  killing  me." 

There  was  a  silence.     Then  he  continued — 

"  I  thought  that  I  was  stronger.  I  thought  that  I  had  dis- 
ciplined my  feelings ;  but  now  I  find  I  cannot  conquer  them, 
that  they  rebel.  Ah,  you  will  never  know  how  sorely  I  am 
tried ! " 

She  said,  taking  up  her  gloves,  "  Oh,  this  is  dreadful !  Think 
of  your  promise." 

But  he  had  detected  a  want  of  firmness  in  her  tone,  and 
raising  his  head  from  the  sofa  and  looking  up  at  her  implor- 
ingly, he  commenced  breathlessly,  "  Lucy,  listen  to  me !  I  had 
made  the  firmest  resolution  that  ever  a  man  made  to  keep  my 
promise,  but  all  my  resolutions  vanish  in  your  presence.  The 
magic  of  your  beauty,  the  charm  which  emanates  from  you  like 
perfume  from  a  rose,  intoxicates  and  overcomes  me.  When  I 
look  at  you  so  lovely  in  your  pure  blonde  splendour,  I  am  seized 
with  a  subtle  feeling  as  if  I  were  confronted  with  something 
irresistible,  with  an  influence  which  strikes  into  the  depth  of 
my  existence,  and  chains  me  hopelessly  in  bonds  of  the  pro- 
foundest  love.  Oh,  I  know  it's  wrong  of  me  to  speak  of  love 
again,  but  there  are  impulses  against  which  one  cannot 
struggle.  You  are  the  only  woman  I  can  ever  love,  for  you 
are  the  ideal  of  all  my  dreams.  You  are  love  itself  in  its  most 
perfect  and  superb  expression." 

He  paused  a  moment  to  study  the  effect  his  words  had  had, 
and  seeing  that  she  looked  away  from  him,  he  sprang  quickly 
from  his  knees  to  his  seat  beside  her  on  the  sofa.  Then, 
encircling  her  waist  in  a  passionate  embrace,  he  drew  her  to  him, 
while  the  pile  of  photographs  fell  clattering  upon  the  floor. 
"Oh,  Lucy,  it's  useless  to  go  on  struggling.  We  are  neither 
of  us  strong  enough  to  do  it ;  we  cannot  fight  against  inevit- 
able things;  it's  too  cruel,  it's  torture  which  we  should  not 
bear ! " 

She  had  not  tried  to  free  herself,  but  her  head  was  still 
turned  from  him.  All  she  seemed  able  to  ejaculate  was,  "  Oh, 
how  dreadful  1 "  and  "  you've  not  kept  your  promise." 


xoo  THE  ADVENTURES 

Seeing  that  her  presence  of  mind  was  fast  deserting  her,  he 
then  continued — 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  little  Lucy ;  we  could  be  so  happy,  so 
supremely  happy  !  Our  lives  would  be  one  long  happiness,  one 
constant  joy.  I  believe  you  love  me,  yes,  I  believe  that  now. 
Why,  then,  should  we  suffer  ?  In  the  name  of  what  frigid 
virtue  should  we  go  on  suffering  ?  You  are  married  to  a  man 
you  cannot  love,  who  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  I  am  free  !  What 
is  to  prevent  the  realization  of  our  dreams  ? 

But  now  she  made  an  effort  to  move  from  him, 

"Oh,  I  cannot  listen  to  such  things.  I  must  leave  you 
now — I  cannot  stay,  you  promised  that  you  wouldn't,  and  it's 
not  right  of  you." 

She  spoke  disjointedly,  and  in  broken  phrases,  and, 
encouraged  by  her  weak  resistance,  he  gathered  his  forces  for 
a  supreme  attack. 

"  Lucy,  it  must  be,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  The  power 
which  commands  we  must  obey.  We  were  destined  for  each 
other,  moulded  for  each  other.  We  belong  by  nature  to  each 
other.     Fate  wills  it.     It  must  be." 

Without  waiting,  this  time,  to  see  what  effect  he  had  pro- 
duced, he  implanted  his  lips  on  hers  in  a  long  deep  kiss.  And 
now  he  felt  that  she  no  longer  resisted  seriously,  and  that  his 
triumph  was  assured. 

But  knowing,  by  this  time,  the  woman  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal,  he  thought  it  wiser  to  avoid  haste,  and  he  changed  his 
tone  of  firmness  for  one  of  tenderness  and  gratitude,  thanking 
her  for  having  made  him  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his 
existence,  and  asking  her  to  trust  to  his  discretion  and  his  love. 
But  he  soon  discovered,  to  his  annoyance,  for  he  was  tired  of 
inventing  epithets  of  love,  that  she  needed  more  persuasion 
still — since  she  now  began  to  tremble  for  the  consequences,  as 
a  woman  brought  up  in  principles  of  strict  virtue  is  wont  to  do. 
She  asked  him  if  he  had  reflected  how  disastrous  it  would 
be  if  they  were  discovered,  declaring  that  she  would  kill  herself 
rather  than  face  exposure,  and  imploring  him  to  reason,  to 
reflect.  If  he  would  only  think  more  calmly,  he  would  see 
that  she  was  right.  Oh,  why  was  it  she  had  met  him,  since  he 
fascinated  her  so  dangerously?  And  what  would  he  himself 
think  of  her  if  she  yielded  to  him  ?  He  would  think,  perhaps, 
that  she  had  already  been  unfaithful  to  her  husband,  while 
she  could  swear  that  she  never  had.  Oh,  what  was  it  that 
attracted  her  to  him  so  strangely  ?  Why  must  it  be  that  they 
could  not  love — as  friends  ?  " 

But  at  the  word  *'  friends  "  Johns  interposed  vehemently — 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  loi 

*'  No,  Lucy,  that  word  must  not  be  used  again  between  us. 
You  are  too  generous  to  wish  to  prolong  my  penance.  You 
know  that  there  is  no  escape  from  the  fatahty  of  love,"  and  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms  again. 

More  than  half  subdued,  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
saying — 

"  Oh,  John,  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to  this ! " 

"  Lucy,  it  was  inevitable." 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  go,  I  cannot  stay." 

"  No,  Lucy,  you  won't  go  now." 

Then  he  persuaded  her  to  rise,  his  arm  still  encircling 
her  waist.  He  wanted  to  show  her  round  his  little  room 
again,  he  said — his  little  den,  where  he  spent  hours  thinking 
of  her,  in  that  chair  over  by  the  fireplace,  dreaming  of  her 
beauty.  One  night,  he  said,  he  had  come  in  tired,  and  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  that  same  arm-chair,  dreaming  that  she 
was  by  his  side,  and  then  when  he  awoke  and  found  that 
it  was  but  a  dream,  oh,  then  the  room  had  seemed  so 
empty  and  his  life  so  grim  !  And  now  she  had  come  to 
grace  it,  and  he  wanted  her  gaze  to  rest  on  every  object,  so 
that  when  she  was  not  with  him,  he  could  look  at  some- 
thing on  which  her  eyes  had  rested. 

As  they  approached  the  door  which  led  into  the  next 
room,  and  which  was  partly  hidden  by  a  thick  oriental  cur- 
tain, he  felt  her  stiffen  in  his  grasp  and  try  to  pass  it  quickly. 
He  was  beginning  to  lose  patience.  He  asked  himself  how 
long  she  was  going  to  play  the  maiden. 

This  resistance  on  her  part  necessitated  another  journey 
round  the  room,  which,  as  there  was  nothing  left  to  examine 
or  to  linger  over,  soon  brought  them  back  to  the  same 
spot. 

But  Johns  now  thought  the  prologue  had  lasted  long 
enough,  so,  tightening  his  hold  of  his  companion's  waist,  he 
drew  her  with  him  through  the  curtained  doorway,  while 
she  murmured  plaintively,  "  Oh  John  !  oh  John  ! " 


CHAPTER 
SEVENTH 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Johns  who  had  just  taken  a  tender 
leave  of  Mrs.  Dawson,  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair, 
smoking  a  cigarette  and  thinking.  He  could  not  help 
admitting  that,  all  things  considered,  the  novel  conquest  he 
had  made  had  not  been  very  difficult.  No  doubt  he  had  had 
to  overcome  some  final  scruples,  and  to  listen,  also,  to  a  little 
exhibition  of  remorse ;  but,  in  the  end,  he  had  obtained  the 
victory. 

Had  this  new  enterprise  procured  him  any  satisfaction  ?  he 
enquired  of  himself.  Well,  it  had  pleased  his  amour  propre, 
and  it  augured  well  for  future  enterprise.  But  when  he  came 
to  compare  the  charms  of  Mrs.  Dawson  with  those  of  Mrs. 
Weber,  he  was  obliged  to  own  that  the  widow  was  by  far  the 
more  delightful.  There  was  a  touch  of  reticence,  of  Puritanic 
reticence,  about  the  wife  of  the  proprietor,  and,  with  her, 
sentiment  of  the  pale,  tender  kind  took  the  place  of  passion. 
Yes,  it  was  undeniable,  as  far  as  his  feelings  were  concerned, 
Mrs.  Weber  had  nothing  to  lose  by  the  comparison  he  had 
had  an  opportunity  of  making.  And  yet,  and  yet,  he  could 
quite  imagine  that,  in  certain  moods,  on  certain  days,  in  certain 
states  of  the  barometer,  the  blonde  would  be  as  acceptable  as 
the  brunette. 

Of  course  there  was  an  element  of  danger  in  all  this,  and  it 
was  possible  that  the  day  might  come  when  the  house  he  had 
been  building  would  tumble  about  his  ears.  But  those  were 
the  risks  of  war,  and  they  couldn't  be  avoided.  Besides,  he 
was  scarcely  anxious  on  that  score,  knowing  very  well  that  it 
wasn't  often  that  women  were  willing  to  accuse  themselves,  and 
as  for  the  precautions  to  be  taken,  well,  he  meant  to  take  as 
many  as  he  could.     Fancy  old  Dawson  now !     How  amusing 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  jOHNS  103 

it  would  be  to  study  him,  to  see  what  a  man  looked  like  who 
was  in  his  shoes.  He  laughed.  How  superior  he  felt  to  the 
whole  office-full  of  scribes,  now  that  he  shared  the  wife  of  the 
proprietor  with  the  proprietor  himself !  It  almost  seemed  to 
him  that  he  formed  part  of  the  proprietary !  And  certainly  he 
could  not  fail  to  benefit  by  this.  Had  she  not  said,  that  very 
afternoon,  in  a  tender  moment,  succeeding  a  remorseful  one, 
that  she  would  always  have  his  interest  at  heart  ?  Yes,  women 
were  made  to  be  helps  to  men,  and  he  smiled  as  he  thought  of 
the  multitudes  who  toil  and  drudge  for  wives  who  bring  them 
nothing  except  children  and  bad  temper. 

But  the  season  was  drawing  to  its  close,  and,  though  he  had 
arranged  to  see  Mrs.  Dawson  once  again  before  she  left  for 
Homburg  with  her  husband,  he  knew  that  the  time  was  coming 
when  he  would  be  left  alone ;  for  even  Mrs.  Weber  talked  of 
going  on  the  river  in  the  autumn.  He  reflected  that  he  must 
shape  his  course  accordingly.  How  pleasant,  and  amusing,  too, 
it  was  to  think  that  he  was  increasing  in  Dawson's  favour. 

For,  to  the  surprise  of  Maskelyne  and  the  reporting  staff, 
from  whom  he  was  now  completely  severed,  he  had  gained  free 
access  to  the  private  room,  and  he  knew  that  they  were  not 
accustomed,  at  the  office,  to  see  men  rise  so  rapidly.  They  began, 
he  was  aware,  to  look  upon  him  with  that  kind  of  half-envious 
respect  with  which  men  of  moderate  capacity  and  little  luck 
regard  those  who  soar  above  them.  And,  in  his  own  way,  he 
felt  a  sort  of  friendship  for  the  proprietor,  who  had  been  well 
advised  enough  to  choose  a  wife  like  Lucy.  He  would  do  his 
best  to  humour  him,  and  to  see  that  his  wishes  were  carried 
out,  now  that  he  had  become  to  a  great  extent  his  confidential 
man. 

At  the  office,  Dawson  had  never  been  so  affable  as  the  day 
when,  shortly  afterwards,  he  told  Johns  that  he  was  leaving  for 
Homburg  in  a  week,  and  that,  during  his  absence,  he  wanted 
him  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out  on  the  Metropolitan  Gazette,  a  Tory 
paper,  which  had  lately  been  established,  and  which  had 
interfered  with  the  circulation  of  the  Planet.  If  Johns 
detected  any  errors  or  inconsistencies  he  was  to  expose  them 
in  his  daily  paragraphs. 

Johns  promised  that  he  would  watch  the  Metropolitan  Gazette. 
It  would  be  hard  if  he  didn't  catch  it  tripping. 

"  How  long  will  you  be  away  ?  "  Johns  asked. 

"About  two  months,  I  fancy,"  was  the  reply,  and  Johns 
reflected  that  that  would  be  a  convenient  time  for  the  elabora- 
tion of  a  little  plan  he  had  been  forming  in  his  mind.  It 
would  also   relieve   him   of   the   somewhat  awkward  task  of 


I04  THE  ADVENTURES 

conducting  two  love  affairs  at  once.  Everything  therefore  was 
for  the  best. 

On  the  Wednesday  evening  when  he  reached  Carsdale 
Mansions  and  found  Mrs.  Weber  waiting  for  him  as  usual  in 
the  drawing-room,  his  first  impression,  as  he  kissed  her,  was  a 
sense  of  her  superiority  over  the  rival  he  had  given  her  since 
their  last  meeting. 

It  was  a  warm  evening ;  one  of  chose  sultry  evenings  at  the 
end  of  a  London  summer  when  the  air  is  still  and  heavy,  and 
a  languor  seems  to  rest  on  everything — when  the  whole  city 
seems  plunged  in  a  hot  moist  vapour.  She  was  wearing  a 
gauze  frock  of  a  delicate  cream  shade,  which  matched  with  her 
profuse  black  hair  and  her  olive-tinted  skin. 

Johns  thought,  "  If  such  a  woman  fancies  me,  I  must  be 
worth  it,  or  there's  another  reason." 

"  How  pretty  you  look  this  evening,  Ellen !  prettier  than 
ever !  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  hoped  you'd  say !  I  thought  you'd  like 
my  frock.     I've  had  it  for  the  river." 

"  You're  gomg  then  to  leave  me  in  my  solitude ! " 

"  Yes,  but  only  for  a  little  time,  and  you'll  come  down  once 
a  week  at  least.  I've  taken  a  little  house  at  Maidenhead,  just 
near  to  the  water's  edge,  and  surrounded  by  trees  and  bushes. 
A  Uttle  paradise  ! " 

"  And  you've  arranged  all  that  since  I  saw  you  last  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !     Why  not  ?  " 

Johns  agreed  with  her  that  there  was  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  have  done  so,  although,  in  his  own  mind,  he 
thought  the  circumstance  somewhat  strange.  The  arrange- 
ment suited  him  extremely  well,  because  it  would  give  him 
a  change  of  air,  of  which  he  was  much  in  want,  ana  some 
happy  hours  in  a  river-side  retreat  with  her.  For  he  had 
become  accustomed  to  this  intimacy  now,  and  there  would 
have  been  something  wanting  in  his  existence  if  these  meetings 
had  been  suspended,  even  for  a  time.  Altogether  the  plan 
suited  him. 

Presently  she  said — 

"  I've  a  little  quarrel  to  pick  with  you.  Why  did  you  not 
tell  me  you  had  been  promoted  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders ;  "  can  it  be 
called  promotion  ?  " 

"  At  anyrate  it  was  a  change,  and  you  know  how  interested 
I  am  in  all  that  happens  to  you." 

"  I  was  hoping  to  surprise  you  with  a  greater  change  later  on." 

"  Editor  ?  "  she  asked. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  105 

"Who  knows!" 

"  Oh,  my  little  Johnnie,  how  I  love  you  for  your  pluck  ! " 

He  smiled,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection,  asked,  "  But  how 
did  you  know  of  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  my  secret,  and  I'm  not  going  to  disclose  it. 
Since  you  were  mysterious,  I  shall  be  so  too." 

"  Mrs.  Dawson  told  you  ?  " 

*'  No,  you're  wrong.  On  the  subject  of  Mr.  Johns,  Mrs 
Dawson  is  particularly  silent." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  puzzled  air,  "  I  wonder  why  that  is." 

"  I  suppose  she's  smitten  too.  Even  old  Mrs.  Baxter  is 
raving  about  that  Mr.  Johns  who  tells  such  pretty  stories." 

"  Ah !  Ellen,  as  long  as  you  admire  me,  what  matters  all  the 
rest  ?  " 

She  placed  her  hands  upon  his  shoulder  and  looked  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  those  wonderful  eyes  of  yours  which  no  woman  can 
resist.     Swear  that  they  are  faithful  eyes." 

"  By  all  the  gods  ! " 

"  My  little  Johnnie,  if  they  were  not,  I've  told  you  what  an 
enemy  I  could  become." 

"  Fixing  the  rivets  again,"  he  thought.  Then,  contemplating 
her,  he  said,  "  How  pretty  you  must  look  when  you  are  angry  ! 
I  imagine  that  your  own  dark  eyes,  my  Ellen,  must  flash 
like  a  meteor,  and  the  lines  of  your  delicious  mouth  must 
curve  with  a  magnificent  defiance.  You  must  be  superb  as 
Nemesis." 

"  John,  that's  dilletantism." 

"  It's  admiration ! " 

"  Nonsense." 

They  both  laughed,  and  the  evening  passed  as  other  Wed- 
nesday evenings  had.  Before  he  went,  Mrs.  Weber  promised  to 
write,  should  they  not  meet  before  she  left,  to  tell  him  the  exact 
day  and  hour  when  she  would  expect  him  on  the  river. 

A  few  days  afterwards  Johns  received  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Dawson.     It  was  merely  a  line  in  pencil,  and  ran  thus — 

"  I  cannot  be  at  Jermyn  Street  till  six  to-morrow." 

He  looked  at  this  message  several  times,  for  its  brevity  and 
the  haste  in  which  it  had  apparently  been  written  attracted  his 
attention.  He  had  almost  expected  an  eff'usion  after  what 
had  passed,  and  this  laconic  note  surprised  him.  However, 
the  important  thing  was  that  she  was  coming.  He  would  wait 
to  see  what  she  had  to  say. 

On  the  Saturday  at  six,  therefore,  he  waited  for  her  in  his 


io6  THE  ADVENTURES 

rooms.  This  time  there  was  no  need  of  curios,  and  he  put 
away  the  arms  and  photographs  into  a  comer  as  likely  objects 
to  excite  remorse  should  she  be  inclined  to  be  remorseful.  It 
was  never  wise  to  give  women  too  much  opportunity  to  think ; 
and  little  objects  of  the  kind,  when  they  had  served  their 
purpose,  were  best  put  out  of  sight.  He  had  had  placed,  how- 
ever, upon  the  table,  a  vase  of  large  white  roses  which  spread  a 
delicious,  almost  enervating  perfume  in  the  room. 

At  a  few  minutes  past  the  hour  she  arrived,  breathless  with 
the  haste  with  which  she  had  come  up  the  stairs. 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  he  tried  to  seize  her  in  his 
arms,  but  she  passed  him  hurriedly,  and  making  for  an  arm- 
chair threw  herself  into  it.  Then,  without  taking  ofiF  her  gloves 
or  veil,  she  cried  excitedly — 

"Oh!  if  you  knew  what  I  have  suffered,  how  I  have  accused 
myself  for  giving  way  to  you,  how  terrible  it  was  to  face  my 
husband  when  I  knew  that  I  had  deceived  him,  and  how  I 
trembled  lest  I  should  betray  myself  I  never  thought  I  should 
feel  so  guilty!  Every  moment  since  I  was  weak  enough  to 
come  here,  I  have  realized  how  guilty  I  have  been.  It's 
terrible!  It's  terrible!  You  took  advantage  of  me.  It  was 
wrong  of  you;  and  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  our  intimacy 
must  cease." 

He  thought,  "And  she's  come  here,  to  tell  me  that!"  and  he 
answered  with  a  superb  gesture  of  calm  purpose — 

"  So  you've  come  then  to  tell  me,  Lucy,  that  I  must  end  my 
life  because  I  am  unable  to  refrain  from  loving  you?" 

She  looked  at  him  through  her  veil  as  he  stood  before  her, 
with  his  arms  folded,  and  she  seemed  to  ask  herself  if  he  was 
in  earnest. 

"Oh!  why,"  she  cried,  "did  I  ever  see  you?  Why  did  I 
ever  allow  you  to  speak  to  me  of  love?  I  must  have  been 
mad,  mad.  This  morning  my  husband  asked  me  why  I 
seemed  so  troubled.  I  almost  confessed  my  fault.  It  was 
to  save  you  that  I  refrained — not  for  myself,  for  I  would 
have  felt  far  happier  had  I  confessed,  whatever  might  have 
happened." 

Johns  by  this  time  was  beginning  to  perceive  that  the 
remorse  of  Mrs.  Dawson  was  not  without  some  danger.  If  she 
could  even  contemplate  the  possibiUty  of  so  disastrous  a 
revelation,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  arrange  things  better. 
How  tiresome  she  was !  Why  couldn't  she  accept  the  situation 
quietly?  He  judged  that  a  change  of  manner  would  be 
expedient,  so  he  said,  walkmg  to  and  fro,  looking  on  the  ground, 
"  Lucy,  every  word  which  you  have  uttered  has  been  as  a  knife 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  107 

cutting  me.  If  your  contrition  is  so  great  for  having  loved 
me,  you  need  fear  no  more.     I  will  trouble  you  no  longer." 

"^Vhat  will  you  do?"  she  asked. 

He  stopped  before  her  and  gazed  into  her  face. 

"What  will  I  do?"  he  repeated.  "You  will  learn  that  soon 
enough." 

Again  she  looked  at  him  as  if  uncertain. 

"Oh,  John,  how  you  torture  me!" 

He  took  a  seat  beside  her  and  said  gravely — 

"  Lucy,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  You  must  either  be  mine 
unhesitatingly  or  you  must  lose  me."  Then  changing  his  tone 
quickly,  he  burst  out  rapturously.  "  Lucy,  Lucy,  let  us  talk  no 
more  of  separation.  You  are  mine  by  all  the  laws  of  nature 
and  affinity.  It's  right  and  fitting  that  you  should  not  belong 
to  such  a  man.  You  owe  it  to  your  beauty  to  disregard  the 
bond  which  has  been  imposed  upon  you.  You  must  disre- 
gard it,  for  you  love  me.  I  know  you  love  me.  I  can  see 
it  in  the  bottom  of  those  deep  blue  eyes.  I  can  hear  it  in 
the  echo  of  that  soft,  pure  voice,  in  the  curve  of  those 
lovely  lips.  You  have  been  fretting  because  you  haven't 
realized  that  the  tie  which  binds  us  is  a  thousand  times 
more  powerful,  more  beautiful,  than  that  which  binds  you  to 
your  husband.  Lucy,  your  conception  of  it  all  is  strangely 
wrong.  You  must  have  confidence  in  me.  You  shall  have 
confidence  in  me,  and  I  forbid  you  henceforth  to  do  outrage 
to  your  truest  feelings." 

She  remained  silent,  her  hands  clasped  and  her  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  floor,  while  he,  with  a  dexterity  acquired  by  previous 
experience,  began  to  unpin  her  veil. 

"  Let  me  divest  you,"  he  said,  "of  that  forbidding  thing." 

She  offered  no  resistance,  but  continued  to  look  down. 

"  Do  I  even  know,"  she  said,  "  if  you  would  be  true  to  me  ?" 

He  answered,  "  I  forbid  you  to  doubt  that." 

And  the  tone  in  which  he  said  this  was  so  peremptory  that 
she  almost  started. 

Then,  seizing  his  opportunity  as  soon  as  he  had  removed 
the  veil,  he  confirmed  his  words  by  kissing  her. 

"  Oh,  Lucy,  Lucy.  No  more  recriminations,  no  more  self- 
accusations;  there  is  no  law,  human  or  divine,  which  can 
reach  us  now." 

Stimulated  by  the  contact  of  her  lips  and  the  warmth  of  her 
half-yielding  form,  he  began  to  pour  into  her  ears  a  whole 
vocabulary  of  love,  of  epithets  used  many  times  before,  of 
accents  meant  to  penetrate  into  the  very  depths  of  a  woman's 
nature. 


io8  THE  ADVENTURES 

And  she  listened  to  him  as  she  had  done  before,  under  the 
influence,  again,  of  the  attraction  to  which  she  had  before 
succumbed. 

•*0h!"  she  said,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "I'm  too  weak,  too 
weak!" 

And  when  the  inevitable  had  happened,  when  he  had  proved 
to  her  that  she  was  indeed  too  weak,  and  the  time  had  come 
for  her  to  leave,  her  farewell  was  as  tender  as  her  greeting 
had  been  cold.  She  would  write  to  him  from  Homburg  very 
often,  though  she  feared  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  reply, 
because  her  husband  would  be  with  her.  But  that  need  not 
trouble  him.  He  knew  now  that  she  was  his,  and  that  she 
trusted  him.  She  wanted  him  to  think  of  her  often,  very 
often,  till  they  met  again.  And  if  she  had  regret  in  future, 
she  would  overcome  it.  She  knew  that  he  would  guard  her 
reputation  jealously.     He  was  so  kind,  so  good ! 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  she  had  something  she 
wished  to  tell  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  John,  my  husband  said  this  morning  that 
he  was  beginning  to  have  had  enough  of  Mr.  Boyd." 

"  Did  he  ?  "  said  Johns,  quickly. 

"Yes;  and  if  he  hadn't  had  an  agreement  with  him  for  a 
year  longer,  he  said  he  would  have  dismissed  him,  because 
the  circulation  was  diminishing.  I  thought  you'd  like  to 
know." 

Johns  thanked  her  for  the  piece  of  information,  and  gave  her 
a  parting  kiss  of  unfeigned  gratitude. 

"  Good  bye,  John — think  of  me ! " 

"  Good  bye,  Lucy.     You  will  be  always  in  my  thoughts ! " 

Johns  returned  to  his  room  in  a  reflective  frame  of  mind. 
The  news  which  he  had  learned  seemed  to  him  so  important 
that  he  thought  no  more  of  the  victory  he  had  just  achieved. 
He  knew  that  the  circulation  had  been  going  down  of  late,  and 
that  Dawson  was  annoyed,  and  now  he  knew  from  the  best  of 
sources  that  the  proprietor  attributed  the  cause  of  the  falling-oflF 
to  Boyd.  That  was  a  piece  of  knowledge  which  might  be 
precious.  He  resolved  for  the  second  time  that  he  would 
make  use  of  Dawson's  absence  to  prepare  his  plans. 

Being  exceptionally  busy  at  the  office,  he  did  not  see  Mrs. 
Weber  again  before  her  flight  to  Maidenhead,  but  in  a  few  days 
he  received  a  note  from  her  telling  him  that  she  would  expect 
him  on  the  Saturday.  He  was  to  bring  flannels,  the  note  said, 
because  they  would  have  boating,  and  he  was  to  come  by 
the  two  o'clock  train  as  she  wanted  to   meet  him  at  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  109 

station.  Above  all,  he  was  to  let  her  know  if  he  would  take 
that  train. 

He  replied  to  her  note  by  telegraph,  because  he  preferred  to 
answer  women  so.  It  showed  solicitude,  and  was  infinitely 
less  compromising  than  a  letter.  Besides,  it  was  so  much  less 
trouble  !  During  his  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Weber  he  had  seldom 
communicated  with  her  otherwise,  having  told  her  from  the 
commencement  that  the  post  was  much  too  slow  a  medium 
when  he  wanted  to  write  to  her. 

On  the  Saturday  afternoon  he  took  the  train  at  Paddington, 
and  after  a  short  journey  he  arrived  at  Maidenhead,  where 
Mrs.  Weber,  accompanied  by  a  young  girl  he  had  never  seen, 
was  waiting  for  him  in  the  station. 

As  soon  as  she  had  recognized  him  she  advanced  alone  to 
meet  him,  and  whispered,  hurriedly,  "  I've  taken  a  room  for  you 
in  a  house  close  to  mine.  A  little  niece  of  mine  is  with  me  for 
propriety." 

"  Prudent  Ellen ! "  he  answered,  smiling. 

She  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written  the 
address  of  the  house  he  was  to  go  to,  as  well  as  that  of  her  own 
villa. 

"  You  had  better  go  there  alone,  and  come  afterwards  to  take 
us  on  the  river." 

He  did  as  she  advised,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  driven 
with  his  luggage,  through  the  shady  roads,  to  a  house  at  the  end 
of  the  townlet — one  of  those  houses  which  are  let  in  the  summer 
months  to  couples  seeking  the  river  as  the  scene  of  their  love 
episodes.  Having  been  shown  into  a  comfortable  bedroom,  he 
quickly  changed  and  left  for  "  The  Retreat,"  which  he  found, 
on  enquiring,  stood  only  a  little  farther  down  the  road.  "  The 
Retreat "  was  a  square  white  house,  more  than  half  hidden  by 
the  trees  and  shrubs  with  which  it  was  surrounded,  and 
approached  by  a  gravel  path  between  two  stretches  of  green 
sward. 

Johns  opened  the  wooden  gate  and  made  his  way  along  the 
path  to  the  ivy-mantled  door  on  which  the  sun  was  shining 
gaily.  A  bright  little  servant  maid  opened  the  door  to  him 
and  led  him  to  a  long  narrow  drawing-room  opening  at  one 
end  upon  the  garden,  and  at  the  other  upon  a  lawn  which 
sloped  to  the  water's  edge. 

Mrs.  Weber,  in  boating  costume,  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kiss- 
ing him.     "  How  delightful  it  is  to  have  you  here,  my  Johnnie." 

And  she  looked  at  him  with  the  long  admiring  look  of  a 
woman  in  love — a  look  of  passion  and  of  great  longing. 


no  THE  ADVENTURES 

He  complimented  her  upon  her  costume,  vowing  that  he  had 
never  seen  her  form  more  perfect  than  in  the  soft  white  flannels, 
or  her  face  more  pretty  than  surmounted  by  the  wide  straw  hat 
she  wore. 

"  The  reason  I  could  not  have  you  here,"  she  said,  "  is  that 
one  is  apt  to  meet  people  whom  one  knows,  but,  of  course,  you 
won't  lose  anything,  my  Johnnie,  for  being  supposed  to  sleep 
out  yonder  at  the  lodgings." 

"  Ah ! " 

"  And  to  show  you  how  careful  one  has  to  be,"  she  continued, 
"  who  do  you  think  I  have  found,  to  my  surprise,  has  taken  a 
house  down  here  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea." 

"The  Parkers." 

"  The  husband  and  the  wife  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

He  scarcely  thought  that  the  "  of  course "  was  obrious,  but 
he  said  nothing. 

The  niece  now  entered,  and  was  introduced  to  Johns  as  Miss 
Brabant. 

Whenever  he  made  a  new  acquaintance,  Johns  surveyed  the 
person  narrowly,  thinking  that  every  man  or  woman  whom  he 
met  might  in  some  way  have  an  influence  on  his  career ;  that 
there  was  no  circumstance  in  life,  however  small,  that  had  not 
its  effect  on  a  man's  fortunes. 

Thus,  while  shaking  hands  with  her,  he  observed  her  carefully, 
settling  in  his  mind  that  she  was  plain,  that  she  was  thirty,  and 
that  she  bore  the  stamp  of  poverty.  Evidently  a  poor  relation 
to  be  treated  with  politeness,  and  noted  as  unimportant. 

The  niece,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Weber's  question,  expressing 
herself  ready,  they  left  by  the  drawing-room  exit,  and,  crossing 
the  lawn,  descended  to  the  boat  which  was  moored  to  the  river 
bank. 

"  Are  you  good  at  sculling  ?  "  Mrs.  Dawson  asked,  and  Johns 
who,  when  a  boy,  had  rowed  his  father's  boat,  with  its  heavy 
oars,  many  a  time  in  a  rough  sea,  replied — 

"  You  shall  judge." 

"That  sounds  promising." 

The  two  ladies  sat  in  the  stem.  Johns,  after  taking  off  his 
coat  and  tucking  up  his  shirt  sleeves,  displaying  a  pair  of 
muscular  and  hirsute  arms,  took  his  seat  and  put  the  skulls 
into  position.  The  sculls,  which  he  had  never  used  before, 
although  of  the  usual  weight,  felt  to  him  ridiculously  light.  He 
thought  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  row  for  a  whole  day  with 
such  feather-weighted  things. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  xii 

And  when  he  began  to  scull,  he  did  so  to  such  purpose  that 
the  boat  soon  travelled  at  a  pace  which  Mrs.  Weber  and  the 
niece  declared  was  quite  delicious,  as  they  gave  themselves  up 
to  the  pleasure  of  being  drawn  through  the  thin  light  air  of  the 
summer's  afternoon. 

The  river  looked  its  best.  The  reaches  were  vieing  with 
each  other  in  placid  dignity,  and  the  colours  of  the  foliage  and 
meadows  were  matched  in  richness  by  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky 
and  water. 

The  boat,  gliding  along  so  quickly,  made  a  crisp  rustling 
sound,  and  left  a  long  wake  behind  it.  It  seemed  as  if  Johns, 
angry  with  the  stream,  were  using  his  strength  to  punish  it. 

At  length  Mrs.  Weber  said,  "  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Johns,  you'll 
tire  yourself  if  you  row  like  that." 

But  Johns,  on  looking  round,  had  just  perceived  a  boat  a 
long  way  up  the  stream,  going  in  the  same  direction  as  them- 
selves, and  at  once  the  spirit  of  emulation  which  was  m  him, 
and  a  desire  to  give  a  still  more  abundant  proof  of  his  prowess, 
made  him  wish  to  overtake  it. 

"  I  want  to  catch  those  people  up,"  he  answered. 

"But  they  are  a  mere  speck." 

"Oh,  they'll  soon  get  larger." 

Whereupon  he  continued  rowing  with  redoubled  vigour, 
without  pausing  a  minute  to  regain  breath,  although,  unaccus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  sculling,  he  was  expending  much  more 
energy  than  was  really  needful. 

Gradually  he  gained  upon  the  distant  boat,  until  the  ladies 
could  discern  its  occupants,  a  man  rowing  and  a  lady  steering. 

"By  God,"  he  said,  "I  must  get  up  to  them  before  they 
reach  the  lock,"  and  although  he  was  becoming  red  in  the 
face,  and  the  muscles  of  his  arms  were  swollen,  he  went  on 
steadily. 

But  as  they  crept  nearer,  the  people  in  the  other  boat  seemed 
to  have  understood  Johns'  intention,  for  the  man  now  began  to 
ply  his  sculls  more  energetically,  so  that  it  was  problematical 
who  would  reach  the  lock  gates  first. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Weber  bent  forward  and  said  to  Johns,  in 
a  half  whisper,  "  Good  heavens,  it's  the  Parkers  I've  made 
him  promise  to  back  you  up  with  Dawson  in  case  they 
should  want  another  editor.  Don't  you  think  you'd  best  not 
beat  him?" 

There  was  not  a  moment  for  reflection,  for  Johns,  in  spite  of 
Parker's  renewed  effortSj  was  gaining  on  him  fast.  At  once  he 
slacked  speed,  and  allowed  the  boat  to  glide  along  towards  the 
lock  mainly  by  its  own  impetus. 


ua  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  I  grudge  him  that,"  he  said,  "  but  I  suppose  there  was  no 
help  for  it." 

It  was  not  long  before  they  reached  the  lock,  where  the 
Parkers,  who  had  by  this  time  recognized  them,  were  waiting. 

There  was  an  exchange  of  greetings,  reserved  on  the  part  of 
the  ladies,  cordial  enough  on  the  part  of  Johns  and  Parker. 

"So  you  were  trying  to  beat  us?"  the  politician  said,  with  a 
smile  of  self-complacency. 

"  Yes,"  said  Johns,  resignedly,  "  I  tried  and  failed.  You 
row  well,  Mr.  Parker." 

Evidently  pleased  at  the  compliment  paid  to  the  prowess  of 
his  mature  years,  Parker  enquired  how  long  Johns  had  come 
for,  where  he  was  staying,  and  how  the  Planet  was  getting  on, 
while  the  ladies  indulged  in  feminine  amenities. 

But,  as  Mrs.  Weber  wanted  to  continue  past  the  lock,  and 
the  Parkers  were  returning,  they  parted  company  after  their 
chat  was  over. 

"  He's  come  on  the  river  with  his  wife,"  said  Johns,  "  how 
excellent  a  husband  ! " 

"  Perhaps  he  cannot  help  himself,"  suggested  Mrs.  Weber. 

"Perhaps  not." 

They  spent  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  upon  the  river, 
and  returned  to  "The  Retreat  "as  the  sun  was  setting  with  great 
splendour  over  the  wooded  hills. 

Johns,  although  he  did  not  own  it,  was  exhausted.  On  the 
other  reaches  he  had  been  unable  to  refrain  from  distancing  the 
boats  he  met,  and  the  exertion  had  so  severely  tried  his  strength 
that  when  they  reached  the  bank  he  was  unable,  for  a  few 
moments,  to  rise  up  from  his  seat. 

Noticing  his  paleness,  Mrs.  Weber  enquired  quickly,  "  What 
is  the  matter,  Mr.  Johns  ?  " 

The  question  made  him  rouse  himself.  Pulling  himself 
together  with  a  great  effort,  he  rose  and  stepped  on  to  the  bank 
to  help  the  ladies  out. 

But  his  hand  trembled  as  he  did  so,  and  Mrs.  Weber  gave 
him  an  anxious  look. 

"You're  ill,"  sfie  whispered j  but  he  shook  his  head  and 
smiled. 

A  moment  after,  the  niece  having  discreetly  left  them  alone 
together  in  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Weber,  seizing  Johns'  hand, 
exclaimed — 

"  My  Johnnie,  why  are  you  so  pale  ?  You've  strained  your- 
self. I  know  you  have,"  and  she  flew  to  the  door  to  order  a 
servant  to  bring  some  wine. 

"  Oh,  my  little  Johnnie,  you  must  not  be  so  imprudent.  You 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  113 

rowed  splendidly  this  afternoon,  but  it  was  too  much  for  any 
man.     I'll  never  allow  you  to  do  that  again,  never." 

He  smiled  again,  feeling  a  calm  pleasure  in  being  pitied. 

A  large  glass  of  sherry,  swallowed  almost  in  one  gulp,  revived 
him  somewhat,  and  he  was  able,  although  giddy,  and  with  a 
droning  in  his  ears,  to  walk  back  to  his  lodgings. 

While  he  was  changing,  after  having  rested  a  few  minutes  upon 
his  bed  to  endeavour  to  regain  his  faculties,  he  cursed  his  folly. 
To  run  the  risk  of  being  ill,  and  obliged  to  give  up  the  game 
for  the  sake  of  showing  two  women  what  he  could  do  in  sculling, 
was  nothing  less  than  rank  stupidity.  He  would  not  try  that 
again  unless  for  some  reason  more  important  than  the  present 
one.  No  matter,  he  had  shown  them  that  he  could  beat  thai 
old  ass  Parker,  and  there  was  some  satisfaction  in  the  thought. 

When  he  had  finished  dressing,  he  still  felt  so  weak  that  he 
was  obliged  to  take  a  draught  of  brandy  from  the  flask  which 
he  had  brought  in  his  portmanteau — a  draught  that  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  stagger  a  man  with  a  less  resistant  head. 

After  this,  he  felt  somewhat  revived,  and  leaving  presently, 
he  walked  along  in  the  twilight  to  "  The  Retreat." 

As  he  approached  the  place,  and  was  thinking  over  his 
afternoon's  experiences,  the  thought  struck  him  that  this  house 
upon  the  river,  considering  the  sum  she  had  already  given  him, 
was  a  rather  large  expense  for  a  widow  who  was  supposed  to  be 
in  straitened  circumstances.  For  it  was  a  pretty  villa,  and  he 
knew  that  its  rent  in  the  summer  months  could  not  but  be  high. 
There  was  something  in  this  which  he  did  not  understand,  and 
when  he  came  to  think  of  it,  it  was  a  curious  coincidence  that 
Parker  should  be  at  Maidenhead  at  the  same  time  as  Mrs. 
Weber,  even  though  his  wife  was  with  him.  Was  it  possible 
that  the  widow  was  Parker's  mistress  ?  What  reason  had  he  to 
suppose  so  ?  None  that  was  at  all  definite,  no  doubt,  and  yet 
all  the  little  indications  which  he  had  noticed,  put  together, 
amounted  to  a  suspicion,  to  a  feeling  that  there  was  something 
to  be  observed,  something  perhaps  to  be  discovered.  He  was 
guided  by  his  instinct  chiefly,  but  in  these  affairs  it  had  seldom 
led  him  wrong.  But  then,  if  there  was  really  anything  between 
them,  why  should  she  have  taken  so  violent  a  fancy  to  him  ? 
Why  should  she  continue  to  talk  of  marriage  ?  Marriage !  He 
didn't  think  much  of  that  idea !  As  if  it  was  usual  to  marry  in 
that  way  !  But  perhaps  Parker  wanted  to  shift  his  burden  on 
to  other  shoulders,  or  perhaps,  again,  she  thought  him  a  good 
speculation — a  man  likely  to  get  on.  Perhaps  there  was  an 
understanding  between  them  !  Oh,  by  God,  they'd  find,  if  that 
were  so,  that  they'd  counted  without  their  host.  But  why 
I 


114  THE  ADVENTURES 

should  he  trouble  himself  about  that  now,  when  for  the  moment 
everything  he  wanted  fell  into  his  mouth  so  easily  ?  She  was 
fond  of  him,  of  that  he  had  no  doubt.  What  his  own  feelings 
were  towards  her  he  didn't  care  to  analyse.  He  only  knew  she 
was  a  damned  fine  woman. 

Thinking  thus,  he  unlatched  the  garden  gate  and  ascended 
the  gravel  path  again.  Mrs.  Weber  met  him  in  the  hall,  and 
led  him  to  a  little  room  but  a  few  yards  square  on  the  right 
of  the  front  door  where,  she  said,  they  could  be  quiet  for  a 
few  moments  before  dinner. 

As  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
him,  crying — 

"  My  poor  Johnnie,  who  looked  so  pale  just  now !  And  is 
he  better  now  ?     Oh,  how  he  frightened  me ! " 

"Don't  be  silly,  Ellen,"  he  said,  laughing;  "I'm  all  right  now." 

"  But  you  don't  look  it,  my  poor  John.  You  look  terribly 
fatigued.  You  shall  rest  here  to-night.  I'll  be  your  nurse,  and 
you  shall  be  kissed  to  sleep." 

But  the  prospect  did  not  please  him.  He  felt  that  he  was 
tired  out,  and  he  wanted  to  get  back  to  his  own  rooms  as  soon 
as  he  was  able. 

"  No,  Ellen,  I  must  go  back  to-night.  I'm  too  tired,  much 
too  tired." 

"  Oh,  but  that  doesn't  matter.     Say  youll  stay,  my  Johnnie." 

But  he  shook  his  head,  thinking  it  well  that  she  should  long 
in  vain  for  once,  and  by  no  means  reconciled  to  the  idea  of 
leaving  early  the  next  morning,  as  he  thought  he  would  have 
to  do. 

As  if  she  guessed  his  thought,  she  said — 

"  You  won't  nave  to  leave  early  to-morrow  morning.  I'll  say 
that  you're  too  tired  to  go  home,  and  you  shall  have  the  most 
charming  little  room  and  the  softest  little  bed  you  ever  slept  in 
in  your  hfe." 

"  Ellen,"  he  answered,  "  your  prudence  is  deserting  you.  As 
if  anyone  would  believe  that  I  was  so  tired  that  I  couldn't  walk 
a  few  hundred  yards.     No,  it  can't  be  managed." 

"  As  you  wish  then,  John,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  disap- 
pointment. 

"  But  it  won't  matter,"  he  added,  presently ;  "  I'm  thinking 
of  stopping  here  a  week," 

As  he  said  this,  he  watched  her  narrowly,  detecting,  he  was 
certain,  a  passing  look  of  perplexed  anxiety  upon  her  face. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  somewhat  confusedly,  "that  would  be 
delightful,  but " 

"But  what,  Nellie?" 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  115 

"  But  I've  promised  to  go  to  stay  with — with  some  friends 
at  Henley,  on  Monday,  for  a  few  days ;  until  you  come  back 
again  at  the  end  of  the  week,  you  know." 

"Can't  you  put  them  off?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't.     They  would  be  terribly  oifended." 

"  Who  are  they  ?  " 

"  The ,  some  relations  of  my  husband's." 

He  thought,  "I'd  bet  they  don't  exist,"  and  said,  '•Well, 
never  mind,  we've  yet  to-morrow,  Nellie.  I  shall  be  all  right 
then." 

Her  face  brightened,  and  she  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  to-morrow  you 
must,  you  will  come  to-morrow." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  mean  to." 

The  dinner  bell  then  rang.  He  offered  her  his  arm,  and 
they  passed  into  a  modest  little  dining-room  on  the  same  floor, 
the  walls  of  which  were  hung  with  portraits  of  the  owner's 
family.     Miss  Brabant  was  waiting  for  them. 

An  English  dinner  was  served  them  on  a  table  decorated 
with  a  profusion  of  pink  roses ;  but  as  the  niece  spoke  little, 
and  Johns,  still  tired,  was  somewhat  taciturn,  it  fell  to  Mrs. 
Weber  to  sustain  the  conversation. 

This,  however,  she  appeared  to  find  it  difficult  to  do,  and 
she  seemed  to  Johns  to  be  not  quite  at  her  ease. 

While  the  dessert  was  being  served  a  servant  handed  her  a 
note.  After  looking  at  the  address  she  put  it  in  her  pocket, 
which  she  seemed  annoyed  at  not  finding  quickly,  hidden  as 
it  was  in  the  folds  of  her  gauze  dress. 

But  Johns  had  caught  a  rapid  glimpse  of  the  handwriting, 
although  the  widow  had  held  the  note  before  her  only  for  a 
moment,  and  he  felt  as  certain  that  it  was  that  of  Parker,  as  a 
little  while  before  he  had  been  convinced  that  she  was  invent- 
ing an  excuse. 

All  this,  he  thought,  would  have  to  be  dexterously  sifted. 

The  niece,  who  it  seemed  was  musical,  played  them  some 
symphonies  after  dinner. 

Before  the  clock  struck  ten  Johns  left. 

When  the  Monday  morning  came,  after  a  Sunday  passed  in 
quiet  ease  upon  the  lawn  under  the  shade  of  the  thick  trees, 
Johns,  who  had  reached  his  rooms  at  dawn,  was  lying  on  his 
bed  reflecting. 

As  he  had  kissed  her  while  taking  leave,  he  had  told  her  that 
he  intended  to  take  an  early  train  to  town,  and  as  the  morning 
light  came  streaming  through  his  window,  he  was  asking  him- 
self whether  he  would  return  that  day  or  whether  he  would 
remain  yet  one  day  longer. 


ii6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

She  had  been  to  him  all  that  a  women  could  be  to  a  man, 
and  yet,  all  the  time,  he  had  suspected  that  she  was  hiding 
something  from  him.  He  had  a  very  strong  suspicion  that 
there  was  something  of  interest  to  learn  by  staying.  But 
if  he  were  to  stay  and  watch,  there  would  be  considerable 
danger  of  being  seen,  and  that  must  be  avoided.  After  much 
deliberation,  therefore,  he  decided  that  the  best  plan  was  to  go 
to  town  and  to  return  by  an  evening  train. 

Accordingly,  having  settled  upon  this  course,  he  rested  for  a 
few  hours  longer.  Then  he  rose  and  left  for  Paddington  at 
eight.  At  the  office  he  wrote  all  day,  and  in  the  evening,  when 
his  work  was  finished  and  he  had  dined,  he  left  again  for 
Maidenhead. 

It  was  dark  as  he  alighted  from  the  train  at  the  little  station, 
and  he  made  his  way  towards  "  The  Retreat "  with  a  curious  feel- 
ing of  expectancy,  with  which  was  mingled  a  little  jealousy — 
just  so  much  as  he  permitted  himself  to  indulge  in  sometimes. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  sky  was  lit  up  brilliantly  with 
stars;  and  Johns,  invigorated  by  the  cool  night  air,  charged 
with  the  aroma  of  the  laurels  in  the  shrubberies,  walked  along 
reflectively. 

Keeping  close  to  the  wooden  palings,  he  slowly  approached 
the  house.  If  what  Mrs.  Weber  had  said  were  true,  the  place 
would  be  in  darkness,  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  she  had  not  left, 
there  would  be  lights,  as  usual,  in  all  the  windows. 

The  trees  and  bushes  prevented  him  from  ascertaining  until 
he  had  almost  reached  the  gate;  but  as  soon  as  the  square 
white  house  came  into  view,  his  curiosity  was  quickly  satisfied. 
There  were  lights  in  all  the  rooms  ! 

He  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  then,  as  he  fancied  he  perceived 
a  blind  being  drawn  aside  in  the  drawing-room  window,  he 
withdrew  again  into  the  darkness  of  the  palings. 

But  he  had  not  remained  there  more  than  a  few  minutes 
reflecting  on  the  discovery  he  had  made,  when  he  heard  a  foot- 
step in  the  road.  It  was  coming  towards  the  house  from  the 
opposite  direction. 

Moving  up  as  close  as  he  dared  to  the  garden  gate,  Johns 
waited  until,  presently,  he  saw  a  thick-set  figure  looming  into 
view.  Soon  he  recognised  the  conical  felt  hat  which  Parker 
wore,  and  an  instant  afterwards,  the  round  fat  face  of  Parker,  as 
he  turned  it  in  his  direction  while  stooping  to  unlatch  the  gate. 

"  By  God,"  said  Johns,  as  he  watched  the  form  retreating 
along  the  path,  "  I  know  this  time." 

He  turned  on  his  heels,  and  walked  back  to  the  station. 


CHAPTER 
EIGHTH 


DURING  the  absence  of  the  Dawsons  on  the  Continent, 
Johns  was  not  idle.  Not  only  did  he  watch  the  Metro- 
politan Gazette  as  he  had  been  asked  to  do,  but  he  also 
watched,  and  closely,  the  doings  of  the  Planefs  chief. 

He  had  noticed,  in  the  afternoons  after  the  first  editions  had 
been  sent  out,  that  Boyd,  who  was  supposed  then  to  receive 
callers,  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  refusing  to  see  anyone  save 
Coulston,  and  he  had  perceived  that  even  Coulston,  who  he  had 
learnt  was  a  relative  of  Boyd's,  never  entered  the  editorial  room 
without  previously  knocking  loudly  at  the  door,  and  waiting  till 
he  was  asked  to  enter.  If  there  were  any  orders  to  be  given 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon,  they  were  sent  through 
Coulston,  who  was  Boyd's  lieutenant  in  the  same  way  as  Johns 
was  latterly,  to  a  great  extent,  the  right-hand  man  of  Dawson. 
And  sometimes  Johns  would  go  into  the  ante-room,  filled  with 
people  waiting  for  an  interview  which  they  had  little  chance  of 
having,  and  sympathise  with  them.  He  would  tell  them  that 
he  for  one  was  truly  sorry  to  see  them  wasting  so  much  valuable 
time.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Some  editors  had  curious 
notions  of  exclusiveness,  notions  which  he,  personally,  did 
not  like.  It  seemed  to  him,  he  told  them,  that  the  more 
fresh  blood  was  let  into  a  paper,  the  better  it  progressed. 
And  then,  were  they  not  all  brother  journalists  and  entitled 
to  consideration?  They  listened  to  him  eagerly,  for  they 
knew  that  he  was  on  the  staff  and  regarded  as  a  man  with 
a  good  future — a  man  to  be  conciliated,  especially  as  he  often 
hinted  that,  if  he  were  editor,  the  whole  literary  republic 
would  have  access  to  him.  And  they  felt  that,  although  he 
was  powerless  to  help  them  then,  he  might,  later,  be  a  useful 
man  to  know. 


1x8  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  How  hungry  they  must  be !"  Johns  would  say  to  himself  as 
he  saw  some  of  them  come,  day  by  day,  on  the  bare  hope  that 
Boyd  would  see  them  for  a  minute  in  the  ante-room  on  his  way 
out,  and  he  would  laugh  at  the  tenacity  with  which  they  re- 
turned to  such  a  hopeless  market  for  the  product  of  their 
brains.  And  how  cheap  brains  were,  how  cheap !  And  how 
great  the  gain  for  those  who  knew  how  to  exploit  them  well  I 
All  this  was  a  lesson  for  the  future. 

One  day  he  asked  Tarte  if  he  knew  why  Boyd  closeted  him- 
self in  the  afternoons  of  late,  but  the  old  man  smiled  enigma- 
tically, saying,  "  Must  not  an  editor  indulge  once  a  day  in  the 
delights  of  correspondence?     He's  answering  his  letters." 

"  Oh,  answering  his  letters,  is  he  ?  "  Johns  repeated,  trying  to 
guess  the  meaning  which  seemed  to  lurk  behind  the  old  man's 
words. 

"  And  is  that  so  engrossing  an  occupation  ?  Are  you  sure 
you  don't  mean  drinking  whisky?" 

"  He  might  be  doing  both.  He  may  find  one  as  pleasant  as 
the  other.     Ah,  what  a  mighty  thing  it  is  to  be  an  editor ! " 

"  Why  are  you  so  mysterious,  Tarte?    Don't  you  trust  me?" 

"You'd  think  me  foohsh  if  I  did." 

"  Curious  old  chap,"  thought  Johns,  "  but  smarter  than  I 
fancied." 

He  reflected  over  this  for  a  few  days,  not  knowing  what  to 
think  of  it,  but  terribly  desirous  of  making  a  discovery  which 
might  enable  him  to  put  a  spoke  in  the  editor's  wheel ;  and  one 
morning,  as  he  lay  in  bed  waiting  for  the  valet,  he  had  a 
sudden  inspiration.  Yes,  of  course,  why  not  ?  Why  had 
he  not  thought  of  that  before  ?  Did  he  not  know  from  the 
best  of  sources  that  Boyd's  position  was  a  weak  one  ?  Yes, 
he  could  safely  try.  Perhaps  he  would  discover  something, 
perhaps  there  was  nothing  to  discover.  At  anyrate  his  curio- 
sity would  be  appeased.  "Tarte,"  he  said,  in  the  afternoon, 
as  he  was  sitting  before  him  at  the  same  table,  "I've  a 
question  to  ask  Boyd  about  this  par  on  the  Metropolitan 
Gazette^  and  I'm  damned  if  I'll  ask  Coulston.  I'm  going 
into  the  sacred  presence  myself  at  once." 

Tarte  gave  a  grin  and  an  approving  nod. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  intrepidity,  my  friend.  You're 
what  the  French  call  a  struggk-for-lifeur.^^ 

"  Yes,  by  God,  I  am." 

Saying  this,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  buttoned  his  frock-coat, 
and,  taking  the  slip  of  paper  with  him,  made  for  the  private 
door  of  the  editorial  room.  When  he  reached  the  threshold, 
as  there  was  no  one   in   the  passage,  he   stopped  to  listen. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  119 

But  as  he  could  hear  no  sound  coming  from  within,  he  seized 
the  handle  of  the  door,  turned  it  rapidly,  and  entered. 

What  he  saw  repaid  him  for  his  trouble. 

Boyd,  seated  next  the  typist  at  the  long  table,  was  reading 
a  letter  which  he  was  holding  in  his  left  hand,  while  his 
right  hand  was  encircling  the  waist  of  the  fair-haired  amanu- 
ensis, whose  head  was  resting  on  his  shoulder.  Johns  had 
appeared  so  suddenly,  that  he  had  been  able  to  take  in  the 
little  scene  before  the  surprised  pair  had  time  to  move. 

Abruptly,  and  with  flushed  faces  as  soon  as  they  became 
aware  that  Johns  was  looking  at  them,  they  separated.  The 
lady  remained  in  her  seat  in  a  rigid  posture,  her  face  wear- 
ing an  expression  of  outi^ged  modesty.  Boyd,  however, 
started  to  his,  feet,  and  turning  his  pair  of  vinous  eyes  angrily 
upon  Johns,  exclaimed — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  coming  here  against  my  orders  ?" 

"  I  meant,"  said  Johns,  with  perfect  equanimity,  "  to  consult 
you,  Mr.  Boyd,  about  something  of  importance  to  the  paper ; 
but  as  I  see  you're  particularly  busy,  I'll  take  another  oppor- 
tunity." 

And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  from  Boyd,  who,  speech- 
less with  rage,  stood  glaring  at  him,  he  retired  as  quickly  as 
he  had  entered. 

When  he  returned  to  Tarte's  room,  he  resumed  his  seat  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred,  and  when  Tarte  asked,  "  Well,  was  your 
interview  a  pleasant  one?"  he  answered,  "It's  my  turn,  Tarte, 
to  be  mysterious." 

But  when  the  day's  work  was  over,  he  strolled  homewards  in 
a  happy  frame  of  mind.  "  With  the  little  typist !  "  he  muttered, 
as  he  walked  up  the  Strand.  This  was  the  little  blonde, 
with  a  plump  figure,  whom,  at  one  time,  he  had  thought  of 
conquering  himself !  How  fortunate  that  a  prudential  instinct 
had  restrained  him,  for  now  he  possessed  knowledge  which 
he  intended  to  make  use  of.  It  was  plain  that  Boyd  was 
hurrying  to  his  own  destruction.  He  had  heard  it  whispered 
that  he  had  been  drinking  hard  of  late,  and  now  he  had 
taken  to  make  love  to  typists  in  the  editorial  room  !  Such 
shocking  immorality  must  not  be  permitted  to  continue  ! 

From  this  day  onwards  he  worked  with  an  increased  zest, 
not  because  he  liked  work,  for  in  reality  he  hated  it,  but 
because  he  was  sustained  by  the  hope  of  attaining  an  ambi- 
tion soon.  Boyd  had  not  referred  to  his  intrusion  when  he 
met  him  the  next  morning,  and  had  aff"ected  not  to  see 
him.     That  alone,  he  thought,  was  a  sign  of  fear. 

In  the  meantime  he  went  to  Maidenhead  as  usual  at  the 


lao  THE  ADVENTURES 

week's  end,  and  though  he  carefully  refrained  from  saying  a 
word  to  the  widow  of  what  he  had  seen  that  night  in  the 
shadow  of  the  paling,  his  manner  towards  her  changed. 
Knowing  that  his  position  was  a  good  one,  he  became  less 
tender,  troubled  himself  less  to  make  love  speeches,  was 
more  exacting  and  more  hard  to  please.  Grumbling  at  the 
precautions  which  they  had  to  take  to  keep  their  intimacy 
secret,  he  vowed  that  he  was  tired  of  the  river,  and  that  he 
wouldn't  be  sorry  when  she  returned  to  town.  For  now  he 
could  not  kiss  her  without  thinking  of  the  burly  politician 
to  whom  she  would  offer  those  same  lips  as  soon  as  he  had 
left  her,  and  who,  perhaps,  was  paying  the  rent  of  this 
riverside  retreat.  How  the  arrangement  was  conducted ; 
whether  Parker  was  aware  or  not  that  he  was  anything  more 
to  her  than  a  possible  husband  to  take  her  off  his  hands, 
Johns  had  no  means  of  knowing.  In  reality  he  scarcely 
cared.  Things  would  work  themselves  out  by  themselves,  he 
thought. 

And  she,  perceiving  the  change  in  his  behaviour,  pretended 
to  attribute  it  to  overwork,  and  increased  in  kindness  and 
attention,  spoiling  him  in  every  way  she  could  imagine,  trying 
to  bring  a  smile  upon  his  face.  Why  was  he  so  preoccupied, 
so  serious  ?  What  was  there  she  could  do  for  him  ?  Was  he 
pressed  again  for  money?    What  was  it  that  was  troubling  him? 

But  even  these  questions,  proofs  as  they  were  of  her  solici- 
tude, annoyed  him,  and  he  would  tell  her  curtly  that  he  was 
well,  that  he  wanted  no  more  money,  and  that  he  would 
be  much  obliged  to  her  if  she  wouldn't  scrutinize  his  looks 
so  narrowly.  He  didn't  like  it.  No  man  liked  it,  and  he  least 
of  all.  And  he  would  sit  smoking  the  Havanas  which  she 
always  kept  for  him,  in  moody  silence,  or  sometimes,  when 
they  were  alone,  he  would  rise  suddenly  from  his  chair,  and 
going  up  to  her,  would  kiss  her  violently,  almost  brutally,  and 
then  resume  his  seat  and  continue  smoking. 

And  she  would  contemplate  him  gravely,  wonderingly,  as  if 
trying  to  divine  the  reason  for  this  inequality  of  temper,  and 
there  was  a  feeling  of  constraint  between  them  which  only 
disappeared  during  the  moments  of  strong  passion. 

One  Sunday  in  the  middle  of  September,  as  he  was  sitting 
smoking  on  a  garden  seat  beneath  the  low  verandah,  looking 
at  the  passing  boats  with  their  freights  of  pretty  women  in 
dazzling  light  costumes,  she  came  and  sat  beside  him.  They 
had  spent  the  morning  on  the  river,  and  had  returned  for 
luncheon.  Throughout  the  trip  he  had  been  taciturn  and 
moody,  rowing  leisurely  and  without  spirit 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  i«i 

"John,"  she  said,  in  a  soft  tone,  "why  won't  you  tell  me 
what  is  on  your  mind  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so  changed 
towards  me." 

But  he  wasn't  in  a  humour  to  be  conciliated.  He  had  had 
enough  of  those  eternal  questions.  He  had  nothing  on  his 
mind,  he  said  bluntly — nothing  but  his  work. 

"It's  not  true,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  angw, 
"you  have.  I  know  you  have,  or  you  wouldn't  sit  there 
thinking  gloomily  as  you're  doing  now.  You're  treating  me  as 
I  don't  deserve." 

He  looked  up  at  her  sharply  to  guage  the  extent  of  her 
indignation,  and  to  determine  whether  it  was  menacing. 

"  I've  done  all  a  woman  can  for  you,"  she  continued,  "  and 
this  is  how  I  am  repaid." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it — this  time  he  had  gone  too  far. 
She  was  getting  vexed,  and  as  he  stood  towards  her  at  that 
moment,  he  didn't  want  her  to  be  vexed. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  he  replied,  "  you  are  quite  wrong.  If  I 
have  hurt  your  feelings  in  any  way,  believe  me  it  was  uncon- 
sciously. I've  been  overworked  for  the  last  six  weeks.  I  fear 
that's  made  me  bearish,  and,  perhaps,  neglectful." 

He  felt  that  this  was  rather  weak,  but  he  could  think  of 
nothing  better. 

"  Is  that  the  real  reason  ?  "  she  asked,  suspiciously,  and  he 
assured  her  that  it  was. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  then,  my  Johnnie;  I  ought  to  have  known 
that  you  were  working  hard."  And  she  looked  into  his  eyes 
with  an  expression  of  subdued  passion. 

"  There's  no  one  in  the  house  this  afternoon,"  she  whispered. 
"  Come,  let  us  make  it  up." 

"  Now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh  yes,  now." 

And  they  disappeared  into  the  house. 

During  the  absence  of  the  Dawsons,  Johns  had  received 
several  letters  from  the  wife  of  the  proprietor,  letters  which 
gave  him  considerable  satisfaction  to  receive.  They  stirred 
up  recollections  which  he  prized,  because  they  seemed  to  him 
to  be  a  link  with  the  people  on  whom  his  career  depended. 
And  what  serious  compositions  these  notes  were !  He  never 
read  them  without  smiling.  They  were  variations  on  every 
chord  of  sentiment,  by  a  woman  whose  illicit  love  struggled 
against  the  principles  of  virtue  in  which  she  had  been 
trained,  and  who  by  nature  had  never  been  intended  for  the 
part  she  had  been  made  to  play.     Now  they  were  warm  and 


i«»  THE  ADVENTURES 

hopeful,  now  sorrowful  and  timorous;  but  in  none  of  them 
did  she  repeat  the  recriminations  which  she  had  made  at  her 
last  visit.  Her  chief  solicitude  was  to  know  if  he  were 
thinking  of  her,  if  he  would  be  always  good  to  her,  and 
careful  of  her  fame.  And  as  she  had  asked  him  not  to 
answer  her — a  request  he  was  only  too  anxious  to  comply 
with — he  was  relieved  of  even  the  trouble  of  writing  letters. 
"  But  what  I  ask  myself  a  hundred  times  a  day,"  she  wrote, 
"is  by  what  magic  you  make  me  love  you.  I  had  never 
thought  it  possible  to  love  a  man  as  I  love  you.  What 
women  say  of  you  is  true.  You  charm  them  by  your  voice, 
your  look,  your  presence.  And  I  ask  myself  how  long  you 
will  continue  loving  me,  you  whom  so  many  women  like. 
John,  shall  I  confess  it  ?  I  am  dreaming  of  the  day  when  we 
shall  be  back  in  London,  when  I  can  come  and  see  you  in 
your  little  room  in  Jermyn  Street ! " 

Then  followed  tender  injunctions  for  his  health,  and  hopes 
that  he  would  not  work  too  hard. 

And  though,  as  a  last  precaution  of  departed  virtue,  she 
omitted  to  sign  her  name,  he  did  not  fail  to  preserve  these 
letters  carefully.  The  mere  possession  of  them  seemed  to  him 
a  guarantee  for  his  own  future. 

At  length,  one  morning  at  the  end  of  the  month,  he  received 
a  note  from  her  announcing  her  return  in  a  few  days.  She 
was  tired  of  Homburg  and  the  people  she  had  met.  She  was 
dying  to  be  home  again.  Previously  she  bad  enjoyed  her  stay 
at  Homburg,  had  interested  herself  in  its  life  and  gaiety,  but 
now  she  could  only  think  of  him.  All  else  seemed  to  have 
grown  pale  and  colourless.  Oh,  how  she  longed  for  the  day 
when  they  would  be  together  once  again !  And  at  the  bottom 
of  the  note  he  read,  in  a  hastily-added  postscript,  "  My 
husband  says  he  is  not  pleased  with  the  way  the  paper  has 
been  managed  in  his  absence." 

Johns  thoughtfully  replaced  the  letter  in  its  envelope,  and 
muttered  to  himself,  "That's  my  chance j  if  I  don't  seize  it 
I'm  a  fool."  And  he  went  down  to  the  office  the  same 
morning  with  a  determination  to  make  a  decisive  effort  as 
soon  as  the  proprietor  returned. 

In  the  meantime  he  clearly  realized  the  riskiness  of  his 
position.  In  a  few  days  his  two  inamoratas  would  be  back 
again,  for  Mrs.  Weber  was  also  returning  at  the  week's  end, 
and  he  would  have  to  exercise  all  the  caution  he  could 
command  to  avoid  a  blunder  or  an  accident.  He  fancied 
he  had  studied  women  well  enough  to  be  aware  that  too 
much  skill  in   dealing  with   them    could   not  be   employed, 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  "3 

because  one  never  knew  what  they  might  do  when  they 
thought  themselves  deceived  or  injured.  He  was  playing 
for  high  stakes,  and  his  play  must  accordingly  be  good. 
Now,  however,  that  he  was  well  clothed,  well  fed,  well 
lodged,  he  felt  himself  equal  to  all  emergencies.  It  was 
magnificent,  he  thought,  to  be  so  prized  by  women.  How 
far  could  not  a  man  go  who  was  so  favoured !  And  some- 
times in  the  morning,  as  he  was  dressing,  he  would  stand 
before  his  looking-glass  studying  his  features,  practising  some 
subtleties  of  smile,  now  bright  and  gay,  now  full  of  changing 
shades  of  pathos.  But  the  expression  which  he  cultivated 
most  was  that  intensely  earnest,  almost  sorrowful  arrange- 
ment of  the  muscles  of  his  countenance  which  had  so  often 
proved  successful  in  the  course  of  his  career.  It  was  an 
expression  which  seemed  to  embody  in  itself  a  world  of 
sadness  for  the  ills  of  life,  a  longing  for  the  ideal,  a  simple 
innocence  with  a  calm  dignity.  It  rendered  all  the  emotions 
he  was  capable  of  feeling  in  his  transient,  subjective  way,  and 
it  was  always  at  his  command  whenever  he  wished  to  make 
others  think  that  he  was  feeling  them.  He  thought,  indeed, 
that  the  majority  of  men  neglect  to  study  their  natural 
advantages;  that  many  possess  gifts  which  they  fail  to  utilize 
from  the  want  of  the  knack  of  introspection. 

Yes,  there  was  nothing  like  studying  oneself!  He  knew 
himself^  as  Americans  said,  "derned"  well.  He  knew,  too, 
what  he  wanted,  and  he  fancied  he  knew  what  he  could  do 
to  reach  it. 

All  through  the  autumn  he  had  been  reading  steadily, 
filling  up  gaps  in  his  knowledge  and  forming  literary  opinions, 
which  he  put  into  sonorous  phrases  and  committed  to  memory, 
so  that  he  might  use  them  at  a  moment's  notice  before  any- 
one he  wanted  to  impress.  Many  of  these  he  had  tried  on 
Maskelyne  and  the  reporters.  He  had  found  they  had  produced 
a  better  effect  than  even  he  anticipated.  Encouraged  by  his 
success,  he  learned  by  heart  impressive  passages  from  master- 
pieces, and  he  settled  his  likes  and  dislikes  in  literature  so 
that  he  might  appear  to  have  decided  tastes,  resolved  to  extol 
enthusiastically  the  authors  who  took  his  fancy  and  to  condemn 
uncompromisingly  those  who  did  not.  It  was  no  use  having 
half  opinions,  and  seeking  the  truth  between  two  opposites. 
One  must  be  either  for  or  against  a  book  or  a  work  of  art — 
unhesitatingly.  That  was  the  only  way  in  which  one  could  be 
striking. 

Now  and  then,  when  he  wanted  to  read  books  which  he 
could  not  afford  to  buy,  he  would  go  to  the  Museum  and 


194  THE  ADVENTURES 

consult  them  in  the  reading-room,  but  the  sight  of  the  circular 
maze-like  room,  with  its  population  of  emaciated  literary  hacks, 
working  like  slaves  at  their  melancholy  drudgery,  gave  him  a 
cold  shiver  down  his  back.  The  place  seemed  to  him  danger- 
ous to  frequent.  For  he  felt  instinctively  it  was  the  refuge  of 
the  unsuccessful,  and  unsuccess  in  some  way  seemed  to  him 
contagious.  He  felt  imprisoned  under  the  great  dome,  and  as 
if  cut  off  from  the  life  of  the  outer  world.  He  spent  as  Httle 
time  there  as  he  could.  It  was  a  place  of  poverty,  and  he  had 
seen  enough  of  poverty.  His  appetite  was  whetted  for  better 
things.  Literature,  if  taken  too  seriously  to  heart,  seemed  to 
him  a  pitfall;  but  as  a  means  to  attain  an  end,  he  had  a  high 
opinion  of  it.  He  devoted  as  much  time  as  he  was  able  to 
French  literature,  with  which  his  semi-Gallic  nature  was  in 
sympathy.  A  good  acquaintance  with  it,  he  considered,  lent 
distinction  and  a  certain  superiority. 

At  length  the  Monday  morning  came  when  Dawson  was 
expected  in  the  Strand.  Everybody  in  the  office  felt  that  their 
fates  were  in  his  hands,  and  as  he  had  hitherto  been  in  the 
habit,  after  his  summer  holiday,  of  making  changes  in  the  staff, 
his  return  was  awaited  with  a  general  trepidation, 

Johns  left  home  earlier  than  usual  that  morning,  and  reached 
the  Planet  before  Dawson  had  arrived.  He  had  deliberated 
whether  he  should  attack  the  proprietor  on  his  entrance  to  the 
office,  or  wait  till  the  latter  had  had  an  interview  with  Boyd.  He 
decided,  eventually,  that  he  would  see  Dawson  as  soon  as  possible. 

He  thought  it  probable  that  the  proprietor  would  first  enter 
his  own  room  before  calling  for  or  going  to  see  the  editor, 
and  therefore  he  seated  himself  upon  the  sofa  of  that  room, 
reading  a  morning  paper. 

It  was  not  long  before  Dawson,  brisk  and  florid,  walked  in 
with  the  firm  step  of  a  master.  He  seemed  surprised  when 
Johns  rose  and  advanced  to  meet  him. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Johns,"  he  said,  in  an  official  tone, 
"  you  see  I'm  back.  I'll  speak  to  you  about  your  column  later 
on.     It  was  well  done.     I  was  pleased  with  it." 

Saying  this,  he  looked  at  the  letters  on  his  table  as  a  signal 
to  Johns  that  he  wished  to  be  alone. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Johns,  gravely,  taking  a  seat  near 
Dawson's  desk,  "if  you  find  me  in  this  room,  it's  not  by 
accident.  I've  come  here  with  a  purpose.  I've  come  in  the 
interest  of  the  paper." 

Dawson  began,  "  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Johns,  but  this  morning  I'm 
too  busy." 

Johns,  however,  did  not  move.     He  knew  there  was  going 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  125 

to  be  a  struggle  of  will  between  them,  and  the  sooner  it  began 
the  better.  He  continued,  "  I'm  sorry  also,  Mr.  Dawson,  but 
what  I  have  to  say  cannot  be  deferred." 

Dawson  moved  impatiently  in  his  chair,  and  Johns  pursued — 

**  During  your  absence,  I've  been  studying  the  way  in  which 
your  paper  is  conducted,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
unless  it's  bettered,  you  will  see  the  Planet  sink — sink,  sir,  to  a 
few  miserable  thousands  daily." 

Roused  at  length,  Dawson  answered — 

"  Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Johns." 

"  Ever  since  the  Metropolitan  Gazette  was  started,  our  circu- 
lation has  been  dwindling  week  by  week,  day  by  day.  In  the 
last  three  months  it  has  been  tumbling  down  at  a  break-neck 
pace.  The  paper's  on  the  road  to  ruin,  to  extinction.  It's  falling 
from  the  place  it  held  to  the  level  of  a  murder  sheet,  and  that 
not  popular.  And  what  are  the  reasons  for  this  disaster  ?  They 
are  two,  Mr.  Dawson,  two.  The  first  is  that  the  Metropolitan 
Gazette  is  a  great  deal  better  at  the  same  price,  and  the  second 
that  your  editor  is  unfitted  for  his  post." 

Dawson,  during  this  speech,  had  been  showing  signs  of  alarm 
and  irritation. 

"This  is  a  grave  accusation,"  he  said,  "to  make  against 
Mr.  Boyd." 

"  It  would  be,  if  I  were  not  prepared  to  prove  it." 

"That's  the  only  thing  left  for  you  to  do." 

Johns  perceived  the  threat  which  Dawson's  words  conveyed, 
but  he  was  fairly  launched  on  his  enterprise  now,  and  he  must 
go  on  to  the  end. 

"An  editor,"  he  said,  "who  for  the  last  two  months  has 
refused  to  see  all  callers,  and  who  has  shut  himself  in  his  own 
room,  making  love  to  his  own  typist,  oblivious  to  the  peril 
which  besets  the  paper,  is  totally  unfit  to  be  at  the  head  of  a 
journal  such  as  this." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insmuate ,"  Dawson  began,  but  Johns 

stopped  him. 

"  I  insinuate  nothing — I  state  what  I  have  seen." 

"  What  you  have  seen  ? "  said  Dawson,  fairly  starting  from 
his  seat. 

"  It's  the  least  thing  one  can  expect  of  an  editor,"  Johns 
continued,  "to  have  some  sense  of  decency,  and  this  man, 
whose  drunken  tendencies  cannot  be  unknown  t»  you,  is 
destitute  of  any." 

Then  Johns  related  carefully  the  scene  which  he  had 
witnessed  —  the  editor  surprised  with  his  arm  round  the; 
typist's  waist  during  the  business  of  the  afternoon. 


126  THE  ADVENTURES 

He  spoke,  he  said,  with  great  reluctance,  and  solely  in  the 
interest  of  the  paper. 

Dawson,  when  he  had  finished,  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  said,  "And  you  affirm  that  you  saw  this?" 

"  I  am  ready  to  take  my  oath  before  Boyd  himself." 

Dawson  was  again  silent. 

Johns,  thinking  that  he  had  gained  a  point,  resumed, 
"  And  that  is  not  all  I  have  to  tell  you.  I  have  to  say  that 
I,  personally,  cannot  continue  to  serve  under  such  a  man.  If 
Boyd  is  to  remain,  I  must  ask  you  to  accept  my  resignation." 

This  was  a  bold  stroke,  as  he  knew  well,  and  if  he  had  not 
had  information  from  the  best  of  sources  that  Dawson  was 
dissatisfied  with  Boyd,  he  probably  would  not  have  made  it. 
Dawson  said — 

"  I  don't  know  that  there's  any  hurry  about  your  resignation. 
I  should  advise  you  to  wait  to  see  what  changes  may  take 
place  between  this  and  a  few  months  hence. 

"  A  few  months  ! "  repeated  Johns ;  "in  a  few  months  the 
harm  done  to  the  paper  will  be  irretrievable." 

"You  don't  suppose  that,  even  if  what  you  say  were  true,  I 
should  be  likely  to  dismiss  Boyd  at  once." 

Johns  rose  from  his  chair.     He  could  speak  better  standing. 

"  Listen,  Mr.  Dawson,"  he  began,  "  /  offer  myself  as  editor." 

"  You  t"  said  Dawson,  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  I !  I  am  ready  to  guarantee  that,  if  you  appoint  me 
editor,  your  circulation  will  not  only  regain  its  former  figure  in 
three  months'  time,  but  will  go  beyond  it.  The  paper  wants 
fresh  blood,  fresh  life.  It  has  been  going  too  long  upon  its  old 
lines,  and  the  public  has  found  something  better  for  its  money. 
Dismiss  that  drunken  fool,  entrust  me  with  his  post,  and  I'll 
turn  you  out  the  smartest  thing  in  London,  sound  and  bright, 
written  by  younger  men,  and  a  thousand  times  more  interesting 
than  the  flimsy  stuff  he's  been  producing." 

Dawson  stared  at  Johns  as  he  had  stared  at  him  when  he 
had  first  asserted  that  he  could  do  anything. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  said,  "  that  you  think  you  could 
edit  the  paper  with  the  experience  you  have  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think;  I'm  sure." 

Dawson  smiled. 

Johns  said,  sharply,  "  I've  made  an  offer,  Mr.  Dawson,  and  a 
serious  one.  It's  for  you  to  consider  whether  you  accept  or  not. 
All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  if  you  don't,  I'm  going  to  start  a  paper 
of  my  own.  I'm  promised  strong  support  from  Australian 
capitalists." 

/uid  seeing  that  DawsoQ  still  looked  sceptical,  he  continued — 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  127 

"  You  think  perhaps  that  is  a  mere  boast,  but  you'll  find  it's 
not,  and  to  be  frank  with  you,  if  I  have  not  already  closed  with 
them,  it  is  because  I  don't  consider  there  is  room  for  another 
evening  paper.  I  would  prefer  to  edit  yours,  which  is  properly 
established.  Remember  what  I  have  said.  I  undertake  to 
resuscitate  your  paper." 

Then,  bringing  his  fist  down  upon  the  desk  with  a  loud 
thump,  he  said — 

"  By  God,  sir,  I'm  the  man  you  want.  I've  got  the  *  grit ' 
you  want,  the  brains  you  want.  I'm  not  one  of  those  kid-glove 
journalists  with  their  academic  snobbery,  but  a  man  who  knows 
his  public  and  how  to  please  it.  I've  taken  the  measure  ol 
every  available  editor  in  London,  and  there  isn't  one,  not  one, 
that  is  of  any  value  who  would  leave  his  post  to  come  to  you 
unless  you  offered  him  the  salary  of  an  ambassador.  If  you,  to 
your  misfortune,  got  in  one  of  those  sublime  asses  from  the 
universities  who  emprison  journalism  within  the  bounds  of  their 
own  narrowness,  the  fate  of  the  Planet  would  be  sealed." 

"  Perhaps  you're  not  aware,"  said  Dawson,  "that  I'm  offered 
the  services  of  Briton  Howard,  who  conducted  the  Evening 
Herald  for  six  years,  and  who  is  now  editing  a  weekly  paper." 

But  at  this  name  Johns  made  a  bound  across  the  room  that 
caused  Dawson  to  start  half  out  of  his  arm-chair. 

"Of  Briton  Howard!"  he  cried,  contemptuously.  "A  man 
whose  nabits  are  those  of  a  street  cur,  a  vapid  mediocrity  who 
killed  the  Evening  Herald  as  everybody  knows,  and  who  is 
killing  the  Weekly  Journal  I  Why,  you  might  as  well  appoint 
old  Tarte." 

Dawson  said,  "  I'm  learning  something  new,"  and  for  a  few 
moments  there  was  a  silence  which  Dawson  was  the  first  to 
break. 

"  Boyd  has  an  agreement  to  the  end  of  the  year,"  he  said. 

"And  what  of  that?  Wouldn't  it  be  a  thousand  times 
cheaper  to  pay  him  off  than  to  let  him  ruin  you  ?" 

Dawson's  air  of  scepticism  had  now  changed  to  one  of 
thoughtfulness.  He  said,  "  You  arrange  things  very  easily,  Mr. 
Johns." 

"  I  can  carry  them  out  as  easily." 

"  But  you  have  no  plan  to  offer,  no  programme?" 

"No  programme!"  Johns  repeated.  "Haven't  I!"  And 
then  he  proceeded  to  unfold  a  whole  scheme  of  ameliorations, 
partly  drawn  from  his  imagination.  More  room  would  be  given 
to  foreign  news  and  to  literature.  The  personal  gossip  would 
be  made  more  accurate,  interviewing  would  be  conducted  on 
more  skilful  lines,  the  financial  column  was  to  be  made  a  gold 


128  THE  ADVENTURES 

mine  by  a  method  he  had  seen  practised  in  Australia,  and, 
above  all,  new  blood  was  to  be  introduced. 

He  continued  to  develop  his  ideas  for  at  least  ten  minutes, 
and  when  he  finished,  Dawson,  rising,  said — 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Johns,  I  see  you  at  least  know  what  you 
want  to  do.  I'm  going  to  make  inquiries,  and  I'll  let  you  know 
about  your  offer  in  a  day  or  two." 

Johns  said,  "  As  you  please,"  and  left  the  proprietor  to  his 
correspondence. 

He  had  launched  his  venture,  and  it  remained  to  be  seen 
now  whether  it  would  be  successful.  He  beheved  that  Dawson 
was  alarmed,  and  he  counted  upon  that  as  a  factor  in  his  favour. 
He  also  thought  he  had  impressed  him,  but  of  course  it  was 
impossible  to  be  sure.  All  through  the  day  he  was  restless, 
unable  to  chain  his  thoughts  to  work,  and  he  paced  up  and 
down  Tarte's  room  until  the  old  man  asked  him  what  the 
matter  was. 

"  You'll  know  that  soon  enough,  Tarte.  I've  run  a  chance 
for  all  it's  worth— that's  all." 

In  the  evening  when  he  reached  his  rooms,  two  letters  were 
awaiting  him.  One  was  from  Mrs.  Weber,  to  whom  he  had 
been  obliged  to  give  his  new  address,  and  the  other  from  Mrs. 
Dawson.     He  opened  the  latter  first.     It  ran — 

"  Dearest, — I  am  coming  to  you  at  half-past  five  to-morrow.— < 
Lucy." 

"  Good,"  he  thought ;  "  she'll  bring  some  news." 

Then  he  opened  the  other — 

"  My  own  Johnnie, — I  expect  you  to  dinner  to-morrow  night 
as  usual.     Yours  ever,  Ellen." 

"Damn  it,"  he  said,  "why  couldn't  she  choose  another  day?" 

He  replaced  both  notes  in  their  envelopes  and  put  them  in 
his  pocket,  feeling  nervous  and  unsettled. 

The  next  day  he  reached  the  Strand  in  a  peculiar  state  of 
mind,  not  knowing  whether  this  was  going  to  be  his  last  upon 
the  paper,  or  whether  he  was  suddenly  to  find  himself  its  editor. 
He  had  slept  little  the  previous  night,  for  he  had  been  revolving 
in  his  mind  what  he  would  do  in  this  case,  and  what  in  that, 
and  as  he  mounted  the  office  stairs  he  tried  to  discipline  him- 
self by  giving  himself  a  hit  in  the  chest  with  his  clenched 
fist.  In  the  morning  he  saw  neither  Dawson  nor  the  editor, 
but  he  heard  that  they  had  been  closeted  together  for  a  long 
time.  No  one  in  the  office  knew  what  was  happening,  but  it 
was  the  general  impression  that  there  was  "  something  up." 

Towards  two  o'clock,  however,  as  Johns  was  passing  through 
the  corridor,  he  saw  Boyd  leaving  Dawson's  room. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  129 

His  face  was  flushed,  and  he  seemed  excited.  He  almost 
stumbled  against  Johns  in  passing. 

"  Oh,  that's  you,  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  perceived  him — "  you 
cursed  sneak ! " 

Johns's  face  lit  up  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  pleasure.  If  Boyd 
called  him  a  cursed  sneak,  certainly  he  must  have  had  a  row 
with  Dawson,  and  if  so,  who  knew?  perhaps  the  chief  had  taken 
his  advice. 

"  Fool ! "  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  then,  as 
Boyd  was  already  half  down  the  stairs,  he  turned  upon  his  heel 
and  re-entered  his  own  room.  Here  he  sat  waiting  in  a  kind 
of  dogged  calm  succeeding  to  the  agitation  of  the  morning, 
forcing  his  mind  to  remain  in  a  sort  of  vague  suspense,  so  that 
he  might  keep  his  coolness  for  whatever  might  occur.  And  he 
sat  there  digging  holes  in  his  blotting  pad  with  a  pair  of  scissors, 
to  the  surprise  of  his  companion,  who  looked  up  at  him  now  and 
then  above  his  glasses.  At  length,  as  the  clock  struck  four,  the 
acoustic  tube  gave  a  shrill  whistle,  and  Tarte,  after  replying 
"  Yes  "  through  it,  applied  it  to  his  ear.  A  moment  afterwards 
the  old  man  answered,  **  Yes,  Mr.  Dawson,"  and  replaced  the 
tube  upon  its  rest.  Then,  turning  to  Johns,  he  said,  "  Dawson 
wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Johns  rose  at  once.     Now  he  would  know  something. 

With  a  firm  step  he  crossed  to  Dawson's  room  and  entered. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  the  proprietor  said,  with  something  like  a 
smile.  "  You  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Mr.  Boyd  and  I 
have  fallen  out." 

"No,  not  surprised,"  said  Johns,  imperturbably ;  "it  was 
inevitable." 

"  Therefore,  as  I  have  decided  to  dispense  at  once  with  his 
services  at  a  considerable  expense  to  me,  the  editorship  is 
vacant." 

"  I  have  already  asked  for  it,  and  I  ask  for  it  again." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  feel  yourself  equal  to 
the  task  of  conducting  the  paper  ?  " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Dawson,  this  is  not  serious !  Not  only  am  I 
capable  of  conducting  it,  but  I  will  pledge  myself  to  save  it." 

"  But  are  you  certain  that  you  can  do  all  you  say  ?  " 

Johns  thought,  "  He's  in  a  fearful  funk,"  and  said,  "  I  can 
only  repeat  that,  should  you  not  appoint  me,  I  should  be 
compelled  to  leave  you." 

For  some  moments  Dawson  remained  silent,  moving  a  paper 
weight  upon  his  desk  from  one  side  to  the  other,  as  if  in 
thought. 

Johns  stood  motionless  before  him,  with  his  arms  folded 

K 


130  THE  ADVENTURES 

At  length  Dawson  rose,  an4,  facing  Johns,  said  slowly, 
and  as  if  with  effort,  **  Very  well,  then,  I'll  try  you  for  three 
months." 

"  No,"  said  Johns,"  I  can't  undertake  to  do  it  in  three  months, 
I  must  have  six." 

"  Must  you,  really?"  asked  Dawson,  nervously,  again  reflecting. 

"  I  must." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  say  yes." 

"That,"  said  Johns,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face, 
"  is  satisfactory.     When  do  I  commence  ?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Very  good." 

Then  they  settled  details,  and  decided  upon  the  course  to 
be  pursued,  and  when  Johns  left  Dawson's  room  it  was  past 
five. 

Suddenly  he  remembered,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch,  that 
Lucy  was  coming  to  his  rooms  that  afternoon,  and,  without 
stopping  to  tell  the  news  of  his  appointment,  he  rushed  down 
to  the  street  and,  jumping  into  a  passing  hansom,  was  driven 
to  Jermyn  Street  at  once. 

Editor  !  He,  John  Johns,  was  editor  of  a  London  *'  daily," 
with  that  delicious  sense  of  power,  and  more  than  two  sovereigns 
a  day !  How  easy  it  was,  after  all,  to  make  the  world  believe 
in  you  !  How  men,  and  women  too,  were  influenced  by  talk ! 
Oh,  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  understand  humanity — a  fine  thing 
indeed ! 

As  he  drove  along,  the  shops,  the  people  in  the  streets,  even 
the  autumn  sky,  seemed  to  smile  on  him.  There  was  a 
glamour  of  success  in  everything.  An  editor  !  There  was  an 
editor  driving  in  that  hansom,  and  he  almost  felt  that  the 
people  in  the  streets  should  know  it.  Now  that  he  had  got  his 
foot  in  the  stirrup  in  real  earnest,  a  hundred  new  horizons 
revealed  themselves  to  him  in  the  rosy  future.  His  life  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  a  higher  value  in  the  world's  plan.  He  was 
a  master  now  in  one  of  the  fields  of  intellect.  He  was  a 
personage ;  he  was  somebody. 

The  hansom  stopped  before  his  house,  and,  throwing  the 
man  twice  his  fare,  he  rushed  up  the  stairs  to  his  own  rooms. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  minute  afterwards  Mrs.  Dawson 
came. 

"  And  has  he  told  you,  John  ?  "  she  enquired,  breathlessly, 
after  the  first  embrace. 

" That  I'm  to  be  the  editor?' 

«  Yes." 

"  Yes,  Lucy,  it's  all  settled.* 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  xji 

••  Oh,"  she  said,  joyfully ;  "  do  you  know  It  was  all  decided 
last  night  when  Mr.  Parker  came  to  dinner.  It  was  he  advised 
my  husband  to  appoint  you.  I  said  as  much  as  I  dared  about 
you  too,  and  then  he  hesitated  and  said  he  didn't  know  if  you 
were  fit.  As  if  my  John  isn't  fit  for  anything  \  At  last,  when 
Mr.  Parker  spoke  so  highly  of  you,  he  said  he  thought  he 
would.  How  can  I  tell  you  how  pleased  I  was  when  he  said 
this  morning,  before  he  left,  that  he  had  decided  in  your 
favour !  I  knew  you  were  anxious  to  be  editor,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  have  this  news  to-day  on  my  return." 

"  Oh,  Lucy,"  he  exclaimed  in  an  enthusiasm  of  unfeigned 
gratitude ;  "  how  much  I  owe  to  you  ! " 


CHAPTER 
NINTH 

SINCE  his  promotion,  a  new  life  had  commenced  for 
Johns.  It  was  no  longer  his  duty  to  please  others,  but 
it  behoved  others  to  please  him,  and,  from  the  day  he  took  up 
the  reins,  he  showed  that  he  was  not  to  be  pleased  easily.  He 
had  undertaken  to  revive  the  paper,  and  he  thought  that  this 
could  be  done  only  by  the  strongest  efforts  of  all  connected 
with  it.  Therefore  he  made  them  work  at  fever  heat,  never 
satisfied  with  their  performances  until  they  had  given  all  that 
their  brains  could  furnish.  He  forced  Coulston  to  resign, 
and  appointed  Maskelyne,  whom  he  knew  to  be  without  too 
much  ambition,  in  his  stead.  The  typist  he  sent  away,  as  he 
wanted  no  petticoats  about  him.  To  the  frequenters  of  the 
ante-room  he  kept  his  promise,  and  gave  each  of  them  a  few 
minutes'  interview ;  but,  as  he  rarely  saw  the  same  man  twice 
after  he  had,  as  he  expressed  it,  got  his  measure  and  found  him 
wanting,  the  ranks  were  considerably  thinned,  and  the 
unappreciated  were  more  disaffected  than  before.  '*  It's  the 
old  story,"  Tarte  would  say  to  them  as  a  sort  of  consolation, 
•'  and  they're  all  alike.  You'd  do  the  same,  my  friends,  if  you 
got  upon  that  perch."  With  Dawson  he  had  assumed,  from 
the  first  day,  an  attitude  of  independence,  totally  refusing  to 
be  controlled  or  checked,  as  Boyd  had  been,  and  forcing  the 
proprietor  to  pay  prices  for  good  articles  which  made  him 
tremble.  But  as,  during  the  first  month,  the  god  of  circulation 
whom  Dawson  worshipped  showed  signs  of  clemency — that  is, 
as  the  sale  increased  in  an  appreciable  measure — he  made  no 
objection,  and  was,  indeed,  beginning  to  have  a  kind  of  timid 
respect  for  Johns. 

But  Johns  thought  that  a  paper  wasn't  to  be  recruited  by 
merely  sitting  in  an  office  chair,  and  he  set  out  in  pursuit  of 


THE  ADVENTURES  Of  JOHn  JuHNS  133 

journalistic  talent,  frequenting  the  circles  where  he  could  meet 
it  best,  and  seizing  upon  it  when  he  found  it. 

Since  he  had  been  made  editor,  invitations  rained  upon  him 
from  people  he  had  once  met  casually,  and  who  now  were 
anxious  to  see  the  young  and  brilliant  editor  who  had  sprung 
up  quickly  in  their  midst.  Rumours  had  been  spread  of  his 
extraordinary  adventures  in  Australia,  and  every  one  wanted  to 
see  the  man  who  was  also  said  by  some  to  possess  a  remark- 
able attraction  in  women's  eyes.  And,  as  he  was  receiving 
a  fair  salary,  he  was  in  a  much  better  position  than  previously 
to  meet  the  calls  upon  his  purse  which  society  now  made,  and 
to  return  the  hospitality  of  useful  people  in  a  variety  of  ways. 

For  Mrs.  Weber  his  promotion  meant  a  disappointment, 
since  he  had  told  her  that,  far  from  getting  married  immediately, 
as  she  had  anticipated,  they  would  have  to  wait  until  his 
position  was  assured,  at  least  until  the  six  months  of  his 
probation  had  expired.  And  she  was  still  more  disappointed 
when  he  declared  to  her  that  his  work  would  now  prevent  him 
from  coming  to  her  house  as  often  as  he  wished.  He  continued 
to  pay  his  weekly  visit,  most  weeks,  although  he  left  long  before 
the  morning ;  but  the  extra  visits  in  the  afternoon,  or  on  odd 
evenings — those  that  were  arranged  from  day  to  day  at  the 
hazard  of  events,  the  meetings  that  she  prized  the  most — he 
had  said  he  would  be  forced  to  discontinue  now.  And  she 
would  ask  why  this  should  be.  She  knew  that  he  went  to 
see  other  people.  Why  should  he  not  come  to  her  ?  But  he 
explained  that,  in  his  new  capacity,  he  was  forced  to  go  as 
much  as  possible  into  society,  especially  into  political  and 
journalistic  sets,  where  he  nad  a  chance  of  recruiting  writers 
and  of  learning  news.  She  was  obliged  to  accept  these 
reasons,  the  truth  of  which  it  was  so  difficult  to  test. 

One  day  he  said,  "  Do  you  know,  Ellen,  that  there  are  a 
hundred  hungry  dogs  watching  me,  to  see  how  I  get  on,  and 
ready  to  scramble  for  my  place  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  so  clever  and  so  well  supported,"  she 
replied. 

But  he  said  hastily,  thinking  of  Parker,  •*  I  don't  want  to  be 
supported,  Ellen.     I  intend  iofare  da  se." 

She  said,  "  Do  you  know,  my  Johnnie,  that  when  I  hear 
everybody  talking  of  you  I  feel  as  if  they  were  trying  to  steal 
you  from  me  ?     If  any  woman  dared  !  " 

And  she  frowned,  while  her  eyes  flashed. 

At  other  times  she  would  question  him  narrowly  upon  his 
doings  since  their  last  meeting,  the  people  he  had  met,  and  the 
invitations  he  received,  with  a  minuteness  savouring  of  suspicion, 


134  THE  ADVENTURES 

which  annoyed  hira,  and  made  him  declare,  each  time  he  left 
her,  that  he  wouldn't  stand  it  long — pretty  and  enticing  as  she 
was.  He  would  have  wished  to  give  her  back  the  money  she 
had  lent  him,  although,  to  do  that,  he  would  have  had  to  stint 
himself,  his  expenses  having  already  risen  beyond  his  income. 
But  she  had  told  him  once  that  she  would  take  it  as  a  sign  of 
rupture  if  he  did  so,  and  he  didn't  want  to  go  so  far  as  that. 
For  he  knew  very  well  he  would  seek  long  before  he  found  her 
equal.  Only  she  took  it  much  too  seriously.  Why  could  she 
not  be  like  the  wife  of  the  proprietor,  who  trusted  him  and  did 
not  give  him  half  that  trouble,  and  who,  since  her  return  from 
Homburg,  had  improved  both  in  beauty  and  in  common 
sense  ? 

The  winter  passed  in  this  way,  and  at  the  commencement  of 
the  new  year  Johns  had  already  lifted  the  Planet  a  long  way 
out  of  the  mire  into  which  it  had  fallen.  Dawson,  now  entirely 
subdued,  allowed  him  a  free  hand,  and  when  the  spring  came, 
thanks  to  the  talent  he  had  been  able  to  recruit,  and  to  a  series 
of  stirring  events  which  he  had  known  how  to  take  advantage 
of,  the  paper  had  regained  its  old  position. 

In  the  meanwhile  he  had  made  the  acquaintance,  at  a  lun- 
cheon of  journalists,  of  a  young  man  called  St.  George,  a  young 
man  of  means,  who,  having  some  literary  leanings,  affected  the 
society  of  journalists  and  authors.  From  the  first  Johns  had 
been  interested  in  him.  His  quiet,  well-bred  air,  the  faultless 
way  in  which  he  dressed,  the  old  Norfolk  family  from  which  he 
came,  and  above  all,  the  entree  which  he  had  to  some  of  the 
most  exclusive  sets  in  London,  made  him  of  especial  interest  to 
Johns,  who  had  been  thinking  for  some  time  that  the  society 
he  moved  in  was  not  the  only  one  to  which  he  might  attain. 
He  commenced,  therefore,  to  cultivate  St.  George's  friendship, 
and  as  few  resisted  him  when  he  laid  siege  to  their  affections, 
it  was  not  long  before  St.  George  and  he  were  friends.  He 
would  allow  the  young  man  to  sit  with  him  in  the  editorial 
room  in  the  afternoon  whenever  he  liked  to  come,  and  once 
he  had  flattered  him  considerably  by  pubUshing  a  short 
poem  which  St.  George  had  written.  Often  they  would  dine 
together,  and  Johns  soon  became  a  candidate  for  election  at 
one  of  St.  George's  clubs,  where  politics  were  not  a  bar  to 
his  admission.  In  a  remarkably  short  space  of  time  they 
had  become  firm  friends. 

One  evening,  while  Johns  was  with  St.  George  in  his 
bachelor  flat  in  Piccadilly,  smoking  in  a  little  warmly-draped 
recess,  carpeted  and  lined  with  Persian  rugs,  and  lit  by  an 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  135 

Oriental  lamp  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  the  young  man  said, 
after  a  puff  of  smoke — 

"Who  do  you  think  was  asking  me  about  you,  Johns?" 

"  I  can't  guess." 

"LordStanfield." 

Johns  knew  vaguely  that  Lord  Stanfield  was  a  kind  of  patron 
of  literary  men,  a  sort  of  Maecenas  who  was  fond  of  inviting 
men  of  letters  to  his  house,  and  who  was  reputed  to  have  shares 
in  periodicals. 

He  said,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  him." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  should  be  delighted  to  introduce  you. 
There  is  only  one  slight  difificulty.  Lord  Stanfield  is  interested 
in  you,  and  has  a  wish  to  see  you.  He  was  only  afraid  that 
your  democratic  notions,  such  as  you  made  known  in  some 
speech  or  other  once,  might  be  a  little  obstacle." 

"Oh,"  said  Johns,  laughing,  "that's  nothing.  I  don't 
preach  democracy  in  private  life,  and  I've  given  up  platform 
politics." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  you  can  put  politics  aside,  I'll  take  you 
to  Berkeley  Square  to-morrow." 

"  My  dear  St.  George,"  said  Johns,  with  a  discreet  smile, 
"there's  nothing  so  adaptable  as  politics." 

St.  George  laughed;  and  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  call 
the  next  day,  which  happened  to  be  that  on  which  Lady 
Stanfield  was  at  home. 

Accordingly,  on  the  morrow,  at  five  o'clock,  Johns  and  hii 
friend  drove  to  the  Stanfields  in  Berkeley  Square. 

It  was  a  large  brick  house,  wearing  that  air  of  sober  dignity, 
indifferent  to  outward  show,  which  characterises  the  houses  of 
a  London  square.  They  were  at  once  admitted  and  shown 
up  to  the  drawing-room.  This  was  a  large  and  lofty  room, 
furnished  in  the  style  of  twenty  years  ago,  with  gilded  chairs  and 
tables,  gilded  mirrors,  and  crimson  hangings  and  chair  cover- 
ings— a  room  which  seemed  to  mark  an  antipathy  to  change,  a 
contentment  with  the  tastes  of  formerly. 

Lady  Stanfield  was  sitting  near  the  fireplace  in  a  high- 
backed  arm-chair.  She  was  a  thin  woman  of  about  fifty,  with 
a  narrow  face  and  a  pair  of  lifeless  eyes,  though  she  wore  an 
unmistakable  air  of  dignity  and  breeding.  She  was  surrounded 
by  a  ring  of  visitors,  in  which  the  male  element  predominated. 
Her  husband,  who  rose  on  the  entrance  of  St.  George  and 
Johns,  was  a  tall  man  of  about  sixty,  with  iron-grey  hair  and  a 
short  beard.  His  face  was  intelligent  and  thoughtful,  his 
carriage  graceful.  As  St.  George  had  seen  him  at  his  club  the 
night  before,  he  was  quite  prepared  for  the  visit     He  advanced 


136  THE  ADVENTURES 

and  shook  hands  cordially  with  Johns  as  his  friend  introduced 
them. 

"  Mr.  Johns,"  he  said,  leading  him  to  Lady  Stanfield,  "  Mr. 
Johns,  the  young  and  brilliant  editor  of  whom  we  have  some- 
times heard." 

Lady  Stanfield  made  a  slight  bow  to  Johns,  and  shook  hands 
with  his  companion,  after  which  her  husband  led  the  former  to 
a  seat  and  began  to  talk  to  him. 

"Mr.  Johns,"  he  said,  "you're  no  stranger  to  me  by  repu- 
tation." 

Johns  answered,  "Reputation,  Lord  Stanfield,  is  a  mis- 
leading jade." 

"Even  when  she's  favourable?" 

"  Often  even  then." 

Lord  Stanfield  laughed. 

"  We  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Johns,  in  a  vague  kind  of  way 
as  a  meteor  in  our  midst.  It  has  been  said  that  you  came,  yow 
saw,  and  you  conquered.     Is  rumour  right?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Johns,  with  a  broad  smile,  "  I  came,  certainly — 
and  saw,  but  I  don't  consider  that  I've  conquered." 

"That  sounds  almost  ambitious.  An  editorship  in  the 
flower  of  youth  is  rather  difficult  to  get,  I  fancy.  At  least,  I'm 
told  so." 

Johns  said,  "  Mine  is  a  modest  post.  Our  strength  lies  in 
numbers ;  but,  alas !  we  are  tied  to  the  tastes  of  a  certain 
public." 

Then  suddenly  assuming  his  earnest  air,  he  said,  "Ah,  Lord 
Stanfield,  if  you  only  knew  what  it  is  to  have  a  longing  for  a 
standard  which  one  cannot  reach,  to  feel  a  craving  for  good 
literature,  and  to  be  condemned  to  produce  nothing  but  mere 
journalism !  I  have  naturally  tried  to  group  around  me  as 
much  talent  as  I  could,  but  I  am  obliged  to  adapt  it  to  the 
needs  of  our  readers.  It  is  no  light  task,  I  can  assure  you,  to 
conduct  a  paper  under  such  conditions." 

Lord  Stanfield  said,  with  a  shade  of  malice  in  his  voice,  "  I 
can  understand  that  readily,  but  I  suppose  it  is  one  of  the  con 
ditions  of  the  radical  press.  You've  perhaps  not  chosen  the 
field  best  suited  to  your  tastes." 

Johns  said,  "In  following  one's  destiny,  one  does  not  always 
choose." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Lord  Stanfield  answered,  reflectively, 
adding  a  moment  afterwards — 

"Did  you  not  help  Mr.  Parker  some  time  ago  with  his 
Education  Bill  ?  " 

Johns  thought,  "  How  well  these  lords  are  posted  ";  and  be 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  137 

answered  carelessly,  "  I  did.  Mr.  Parker  explained  his  views 
to  me  and  I  applied  them — that  was  all." 

Lord  Stanfield  gave  a  reflective  "Oh." 

"But,"  said  Johns,  "what,  after  all,  are  these  views  of  politi- 
cians which  differ  in  each  camp  ?  They're  held  to-day,  and 
to-morrow  they're  abandoned.  We  live  in  a  constant  world  of 
change." 

Before  Lord  Stanfield  could  reply,  the  door  was  opened,  and 
a  lady  entered,  who  was  announced  as  Mrs.  Humphreys. 

Johns  looked  at  the  new  arrival,  whom  Lord  Stanfield  had 
advanced  to  meet.  She  was  a  woman  whom  he  judged  to  be 
about  forty,  or  perhaps  a  little  older,  and  she  was  rather 
stout.  Fair,  with  regular  features  which  had  been  handsome 
once,  but  which  suggested  now  the  sad  fugacity  of  things,  her 
face,  beneath  the  rouge  it  bore,  seemed  by  its  surfeited  expres- 
sion to  denote  a  life  of  ease,  of  opulence,  of  satisfaction.  She 
appeared  to  Johns,  as  he  noticed  the  studied,  almost  juvenile, 
simplicity  of  her  little  brown  cloth  jacket,  and  the  plainness 
of  her  dress,  to  belong  to  that  class  of  women  who  are 
never  reconciled  to  growing  old,  and  as  something  about 
her,. he  could  scarcely  tell  what — an  aroma  of  wealth  perhaps 
— excited  his  curiosity,  he  resolved  to  observe  her  closely, 
fancying  that  she  would  be  worth  the  trouble.  She  was 
evidently  a  welcome  guest,  for  Lady  Stanfield  asked  her  to  take 
a  chair  at  the  side  of  hers,  and  they  appeared  to  be  on  terms  of 
intimacy.  St.  George  seemed  to  know  her  also,  for  he  had 
shaken  hands  with  her. 

As  soon  as  the  peer  returned  to  his  seat,  Johns  continued 
speaking  to  him.  What  subject  could  he  start,  he  asked 
himself,  so  that  he  might  attract  attention  to  himself?  For 
he  thought  it  was  not  much  use  to  come  to  such  a  house 
and  remain  unrecognized  by  the  majority.  So,  trusting  to 
his  voice  to  create  its  usual  effect,  and  to  literature  to  do 
the  rest,  he  forced  Lord  Stanfield  into  a  discussion  of  the 
works  of  a  young  poet  who  had  lately  come  somewhat  into 
notice  and  whom  Johns  had  met.  Having  first  ascertained 
that  Lord  Stanfield  did  not  think  this  young  aspirant,  with  an 
exotic  name,  a  genius,  he  broke  out  into  a  sudden  diatribe 
against  his  verse. 

"Never,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  tone,  "surely  never  has  a 
more  vapid  mediocrity  tried  to  foist  his  imbecilities  upon  the 
public.  His  doggerel  is  an  insult  to  English  letters,  and  it's 
marvellous  to  me  that  even  a  printer  should  have  been  found  to 
print  it." 

Then,  seeing  that  the  visitors  were  banning  to  look  round, 


138  THE  ADVENTURES 

and  thinking  that  he  had  perhaps  been  too  crushing,  had 
seemed  perhaps  too  trenchant,  he  softened  his  tone,  continuing — 

"And  when  one  thinks  that  this  is  the  country  of  the  divine 
Shelley,  who  left  behind  him  so  beautiful  a  model  for  all  who 
were  to  follow  him,  one  can  but  pity  this  innocent  young  man. 
Ah,  Shelley  was  a  great  magician !  Surely  he  was  the  truest 
poet  of  this  century!" 

He  had  assumed  so  sorrowful  a  countenance,  he  seemed  to 
realize  so  deeply  the  loss  which  the  nation  made  when  it  lost 
Shelley,  that  several  of  the  visitors  were  still  looking  at  him, 
and  Mrs.  Humphreys  turned  to  Lady  Stanfield,  seemingly  to 
ask  a  question. 

But  Lord  Stanfield  said,  "No  doubt  Shelley  was  a  great  poet, 
but  he  was  singularly  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  ills  which  he 
deplored." 

And  suddenly  Johns  thought  of  the  "Masque  of  Anarchy" 
and  the  "Ode  to  Liberty,"  and  said,  "Of  course,  I  know  that 
Shelley  was  a  visionary  at  times,  that  his  imagination  led  him 
beyond  the  bounds  of  sober  reason;  but  how  superb  he  was  in 
his  illusions !  In  what  inimitable  notes  he  scourged  the  tyrants 
which  his  brain  created!" 

As  Lord  Stanfield  assented  by  an  "Oh,  no  doubt,"  there  was 
a  pause,  during  which  the  conversation  was  resumed  among  the 
visitors. 

Presently  Johns  said,  as  he  perceived  Lord  Stanfield  rising, 
"Who,  might  I  ask,  is  that  lady  speaking  to  Lady  Stanfield? 
Her  face  reminds  me  of  a  lady  I  once  knew." 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Humphreys.  Would  you  like  to  speak 
to  her?" 

"  I  would." 

They  crossed  the  room  to  the  fireplace,  and  Lord  Stanfield 
said,  "  Mrs.  Humphreys,  here  is  Mr.  Johns,  ol  whom  you  may 
have  heard." 

Johns  bowed,  while  Lady  Stanfield  said,  by  way  of  explana- 
tion, and  in  a  tone  which  was  not  quite  free  from  condescension, 
"  Mr.  Johns  is  the  editor — the  young  editor,  I  should  say — of  a 
paper  called  the  Planet.^* 

Mrs.  Humphreys  said,  "Oh,  yes,  I've  read  of  Mr.  Johns. 
The  Sphere  had  several  paragraphs  about  him  the  other  day." 

"Yes,"  said  Johns,  with  a  quiet  smile,  "they  are  good 
enough  to  trouble  themselves  about  me.  It  amuses  them  to 
make  of  me  a  kind  of  legendary  person." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Humphreys,  laughing,  and  showing  a 
set  of  faultless  teeth,  which  somehow  scarcely  seemed  to  Johns 
quite  natural. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  139 

And  as  he  thought  that  women  are  always  a  little  grateful  to 
those  who  take  the  trouble  to  interest  and  to  amuse  them,  he 
exerted  himself  to  obtain  the  suffrages  of  his  two  hearers. 
Speaking  without  ceasing,  passing  from  one  topic  to  another 
without  pausing,  so  that  they  might  continue  to  give  him  their 
attention,  presenting  many  pictures  to  their  imagination,  he  did 
his  best  to  dazzle  them,  studying  their  faces  all  the  time  as  if 
they  were  barometers  to  indicate  the  effect  he  was  producing. 
Theatres,  novels,  art — the  trinity  on  which  social  conversation 
lives — he  attacked  them  all  with  lightness  and  originality, 
although  somewhat  dogmatically  and  with  many  gestures. 
From  the  first  he  saw  that  he  could  amuse  Mrs.  Humphreys 
easily,  but  to  do  the  same  with  Lady  Stanfield  was  more 
difficult.  He  guessed  that  those  cold  grey  eyes  of  hers  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  life,  and  he  fancied  she  possessed  that 
British  aversion  to  over-demonstrativeness  which  made  him 
always  feel  uncomfortable  when  he  came  across  it.  So  he 
moderated  his  tones,  towards  the  end,  lest  she  should  think  him 
"  loud  " — a  thing  which  would  have  touched  his  amour  propre 
considerably.  At  length,  when  by  a  queer  turn  of  phrase  he 
was  able  to  raise  a  smile  upon  her  serious  face,  he  esteemed  it 
a  little  victory.     She  was  evidently  thawing. 

Presently,  however,  he  was  forced  to  give  up  his  place  to  a 
new  arrival,  and  as  Lady  Stanfield  was  busy  taking  leave  of  an 
old  man,  with  white  hair  and  a  bent  back,  and  two  ladies  who 
seemed  to  be  his  daughters,  he  was  unable  to  come  to  the 
front  again,  and  for  some  time  was  forced  to  become  a 
listener. 

But  a  little  later,  as  he  was  looking  towards  his  friend — who 
was  chatting  with  a  pale-faced  girl  in  black — to  see  if  he  were 
inclined  to  leave,  Mrs.  Humphreys,  from  whom  he  had  been 
separated  in  the  change  of  seats,  passed  him  on  her  way  out. 

She  said,  in  passing,  "  I'm  always  at  home  on  Wednesdays, 
Mr.  Johns,  at  60  Grosrenor  Place." 

He  repHed,  with  a  low  bow,  "Not  another  week  shall  pass 
then,  before  I  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  a  visit." 

He  spent  a  few  more  minutes  speaking  to  a  young  man, 
whom  he  did  not  know,  about  the  change  of  government. 
Then  he  left  with  his  friend  St.  George,  promising  Lord 
Stanfield  that  he  would  come  again,  since  he  was  good  enough 
to  ask  him. 

When  they  reached  the  street,  St.  George  enquired,  "  What 
do  you  think  of  them  ?  " 

Johns  answered,  "A  remarkably  nice  family;  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you,  St.  George,  for  introducing  me." 


140  THE  ADVENTURES 

St.  George  said,  "  They're  inclined  to  be  rather  sleepy,  and  1 
think  you  woke  them  up." 

"  I  didn't  say  too  much,  did  I  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  bit,  although  at  one  time  I  was  getting  rather 
fidgety." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  because  of  Shelley's  anarchy ;  but  I  made 
up  for  that,  I  hope.     By  the  way,  who  is  Mrs.  Humphreys  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Humphreys  is  the  widow  of  a  Mr.  Humphreys,  which 
Mr.  Humphreys  was  a  wealthy  man,  who  left  his  widow  some- 
thing like  six  or  seven  thousand  a  year  in  consols,  besides  a 
house  in  Grosvenor  Place." 

"Oh  indeed,"  Johns  said,  much  more  impressed  than  he 
cared  to  let  his  companion  see,  "and  is  she  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,  but  I  go  to  see  her  now  and  then." 

"That  means,  I  suppose,  that  you've  no  desire  to  take 
the  place  of  the  late  Mr.  Humphreys?" 

"  None  whatever.  Fifty  if  she's  a  day.  No,  my  boy,  I 
want  something  fresher,  and  thirty  years  less  ancient. 

"Yes,"  said  Johns,  "all  that  is  very  nice — when  one  can 
afford  it." 

Then,  to  change  the  subject,  he  continued,  "And  what  is 
it  that  Lord  Stanfield  has  a  share  in?" 

"  He's  the  principal  owner  of  the  Centenary  Review.^'' 

"  Oh,"  said  Johns,  reflectively,    "  influential  in  every  way." 

"Yes,  very.     You  won't  regret  your  visit." 

Johns  answered,  "I  should  say  not." 

They  had  reached  Hyde  Park  Corner.  The  sun  was 
setting  over  the  Roman  arch,  tinting  the  wall  of  the  hospital 
with  a  soft  shade  and  reflecting  its  fire  in  the  window- 
panes,  while  some  pure  white  clouds  were  floating  calmly 
over  the  great  park. 

St.  George  said,  "  I  must  leave  you  now,  as  I've  got  to  call 
on  a  friend  at  the  Bachelors',  but  remember,  you're  coming  to 
my  rooms  to-night  at  ten.  I've  my  httle  actress  and  her  sister 
coming  in  to  supper.     We  shall  be  only  four." 

"Is  the  sister  nice?" 

"  You  shall  see.     I  promise  you  youll  not  be  disappointed." 

"  Then  I'll  come,  St.  George,"  and  upon  this  they  parted. 

Johns  walked  down  Piccadilly  slowly.  He  was  in  a  some- 
what uncertain  frame  of  mind,  for  he  was  asking  himself  whether 
he  had  made  a  good  impression  at  the  Stanfields.  Those  big 
people  were  so  reserved,  so  enigmatic,  that  one  could  not  read 
them  as  easily  as  others.  And  yet  he  thought  he  had  made 
the  most  of  the  opportunity,  and  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  have 
gained  admittance  into  that  set — a  fine  thing  indeed.    For,  aftei 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  141 

all,  these  were  the  people  who  ruled  England,  who  held  all  that 
was  worth  having  in  their  hands,  whose  influence  was  in  reality 
as  great  now  as  ever  it  was,  although  their  titles  were  but 
nominal.  As  if  anything  ever  really  changed  in  England ! 
Never !  And  it  was  evident  that  a  man  had  much  to  gain  by 
frequenting  such  favoured  people.  Already  he  felt  himself  a 
degree  higher  in  the  social  scale  than  he  had  the  day  before, 
now  that  he  numbered  a  peer  among  his  friends.  And  when 
one  thought  that  democrats  in  England  were  only  too  delighted, 
as  a  rule,  to  be  hoisted  to  a  title !  Down  with  the  House  of 
Lords,  they  cried,  and  they  wanted  to  be  Lords  themselves. 
Of  course,  and  quite  right  too.  It  was  necessary  to  have  a 
higher  caste  than  the  mere  peddling  middle  classes.  It  was 
necessary  there  should  be  a  set  of  men  who  were  held  to  be  the 
flower  of  the  race,  the  "  cream,"  as  the  French  had  it,  the  pick 
of  its  men  and  women.  And  whether  it  was  necessary  or  not, 
these  Lords  existed,  and  that  was  enough  for  him. 

And  what  about  this  widow,  with  her  house  and  consols,  her 
girlish  manner,  her  little  waist  and  ample  bust  ?  Surely  she,  too, 
was  somebody  worth  knowing.  A  woman  who  moved  in  such 
society  as  that,  was  not  the  widow  of  a  soap  boiler.  No, 
evidently  she  belonged  to  the  authentic  aristocracy,  the  real 
aristocracy,  that  into  which  he  had  so  much  wished  of  late  to 
enter — a  very  different  sort  from  that  represented  by  the 
Dawsons  and  the  Parkers.  Faugh,  the  Parkers  !  What  if  they 
did  live  in  a  big  house  ;  they  could  only  get  a  few  rough  politi- 
cians like  Parker  himself  to  come  to  it.  And  the  Dawsons 
too  !  Was  not  Dawson  an  old  grocer  who  had  wanted  to  rise 
a  peg  by  owning  his  own  newspaper  ?  What  a  set  of  nobodies  1 
Perhaps  some  day  he'd  be  able  to  do  without  them. 

And  as  he  walked  along  he  continued  to  speculate  upon  the 
possible  usefulness  of  the  people  he  had  met  that  afternoon, 
letting  his  imagination  take  him  into  ambitious  places.  How 
full  of  opportunities  London  seemed  that  evening  in  the  fading 
light!  How  alert  and  pleasant  was  the  aspect  of  the  streets, 
how  gay  the  traffic  gliding  through  this  thoroughfare  of  opulence, 
with  its  tasteful  shops  and  its  palatial  clubs  !  How  admirably 
it  was  all  arranged  for  a  man  who  could  help  himself!  There 
were  so  many  fools  who  couldn't,  who  thought  and  toiled  and 
yet  were  never  ready  at  the  proper  time,  who  were  obliged  to 
eat  the  bread  of  poverty.  By  God,  he'd  eaten  that  bread  once, 
and  its  taste  remained  in  his  mouth  still.  There  should  be  no 
more  of  that  for  him  if  he  could  help  it. 

Three  days  afterwards,  upon  the  Wednesday,  Johns,  scrupu- 
lously shaved,  and  wearing  an  immaculate  frock  coat,  with  a 


I4a  THE  ADVENTURES 

flower  in  the  button-hole,  knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Humphreys'  house  in  Grosvenor  Place  at  five  o'clock.  He 
was  not  doubtful  as  to  the  reception  which  awaited  him.  The 
invitation  the  widow  had  given  him  was  too  cordial  for  there 
to  be  any  chance  of  its  being  bad,  and  it  was  with  an  air  of 
calm  assurance  that  he  gave  his  name  to  the  man  who  opened 
the  door  to  him. 

"  A  fine  house,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  mounted  the 
wide  stone  staircase  and  noticed  the  Corinthian  pillars  of  red 
marble  on  either  side  of  the  recess,  and  the  high  stately  doors 
of  walnut  wood,  surmounted  by  deep  mouldings  serving  as 
pedestals  for  sculptured  busts,  "  a  monumental  house." 

St.  George  had  given  him  some  further  information  about 
Mrs.  Humphreys  since  the  visit  to  Berkeley  Square.  His 
friend  had  told  him  that  she  was  a  widow  for  the  second  time ; 
that  her  last  husband,  the  son  of  a  large  landowner,  had  died 
two  years  previously,  and  that  Society  had  had  something  to 
say  about  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Humphreys  had  observed 
the  marriage  vow.  There  was  a  story  of  a  certain  captain,  and 
another  of  a  foreign  count,  for  whom  she  was  said  to  have  been 
by  no  means  adamantine,  and  there  were  other  little  anecdotes 
of  less  importance,  which  St.  George  had  said  he  had  forgotten. 
One  thing  was  certain,  she  was  left  exceedingly  well  off.  She 
was  also  without  children. 

Johns  had  expected  to  find  a  drawing-room  filled  with 
visitors,  and  he  was  somewhat  surprised  when  he  saw  that  Mrs. 
Humphreys  was  alone. 

Almost  hidden  in  the  corner  of  a  couch,  near  the  high  French 
window  in  a  spacious  room  which  was  a  model  of  harmonious 
elegance — a  room  suggestive  of  warmth,  well-being,  comfort — 
the  fair-haired  widow  was  seated  reading.  She  wore  a  thin 
black  muslin  dress  (although  the  weather  scarcely  seemed  to 
warrant  it)  which  was  simply  made  and  gathered  round  the 
waist  by  a  silk  band.  The  only  jewelry  she  wore,  besides 
a  diamond  ring,  was  a  pearl-headed  pin,  which  was  passed 
through  the  knot  of  her  hair. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come  to-day,"  she  said  as  Johns 
advanced  towards  her.  "  Very  few  of  my  friends  know  that  I'm 
back  in  town,  and  I've  only  had  two  visitors  this  afternoon." 

Taking  the  exceedingly  white  hand  she  held  out  to  him  in 
his,  Johns  said,  "  I'm  delighted  to  have  come  so  opportunely, 
Mrs.  Humphreys,  and  all  the  more  delighted  to  find  you  quite 
alone,  because  it  affords  me  a  better  chance  of  making  myself 
known  to  you.  Had  I  come  when  you  were  surrounded  by 
your  friends,  I  would  have  been  one  among  a  number,  and  I 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  143 

should  have  had  to  be  content  with  only  speaking  to  you  for  a 
few  moments.  But  that  would  not  have  pleased  me.  For  do 
you  know,  dear  Mrs.  Humphreys,  that  when  we  met  the  other 
day,  I  had  a  quick  presentiment  that  we  should  soon  become 
acquainted,  that  we  should  soon  perhaps  be — may  I  say  it  ? — 
friends.  For  I  have  always  realized  that  there  are  natures  with 
whom  I  have  immediate  sympathy,  faces  that  interest  me,  that 
attract  me  at  first  sight,  and  need  I  say  that  when  I  saw  you 
this  phenomenon  occurred?" 

"  Really?"  she  answered,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  "  it's  kind 
of  you  to  say  so,  and  I  must  confess,  on  my  part,  that  when  I 
heard  you  were  Mr.  Johns  the  editor,  I  also  felt  I  should  like  to 
know  you." 

Johns  looked  grave. 

"Only  because  I  was  Mr.  Johns  the  editor?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  no,"  she  explained,  with  a  little  laugh  which  exposed 
a  row  of  wrinkles,  "perhaps  not  on  that  account  alone." 

"  Ah,  I  trust  not ! " 

"  But  you  really  do  ask  curious  questions." 

"  Prompted,  I  assure  you,  by  a  sincere  motive." 

"  Mr.  Johns,  I've  been  told  that  you're  a  great  flatterer.  Is 
it  true  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  certainly  not.  I  never  flatter  unless  I  can  admire. 
Then  it's  no  longer  flattery." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  smiled  again  without  replying,  and  Johns 
thought,  "She  can't  talk  much  at  any  rate." 

Presently  he  continued,  "  Ah,  Mrs.  Humphreys,  if  you  only 
knew,"  and  then  he  paused  a  moment,  for  he  had  brought  out 
this  phrase,  which  had  stood  him  in  good  stead  before,  without 
having  decided  what  was  to  follow  after. 

"  If  you  only  knew,"  he  pursued,  "how  gladly  I  came  here 
this  afternoon,  knowing  that  I  would  meet  sympathy !  As  I 
told  our  friend  St.  George,  if  I  had  forty  papers  to  attend  to, 
that  would  not  prevent  me  keeping  my  promise  not  to  let  a 
week  pass  by  before  I  came  to  see  you." 

And  then,  feeling  that  he  was  perhaps  carrying  the  sympathy 
motive  too  far,  he  said,  "  What  a  charming  house  you  live  in, 
and  what  perfect  taste  the  arrangement  of  this  drawing-room 
shows  !  There  are  some  people  who  are  born  with  the  instinct 
for  the  beautiful !      They  embellish  everything  they  touch  ! " 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  "  that  a  great  deal  of  the  credit  is 
due  to  the  decorator.  I  only  gave  a  few  directions — just  a  few, 
you  know." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  just  those  few  that  give  the  cachet^  as  the 
French  say.  to  the  whole  room.     That  magnificent  rich  piano- 


144  THE  ADVENTURES 

covering,  with  its  delicate  gold-embroidery  contrasting  so  finely 
with  its  crimson  velvet !  It  was  not  the  decorator  who  chose  that 
chaste  design.    No,  Mrs.  Humphreys,  it  was  the  owner's  taste  ! " 

**  Really,  Mr.  Johns,  you  will  soon  make  me  believe  that  I'm 
a  born  artist." 

"  You  would  be  believing  nothing  but  the  truth." 

She  gave  a  little  ringing  laugh  which  sounded  too  young 
for  her. 

But  Johns,  noticing  an  indifferent  piece  of  work  which 
seemed  hardly  in  keeping  with  the  remainder  of  the  furniture, 
exclaimed — 

"  And  that  beautiful  tapestry  over  yonder  against  the  wall, 
you  will  not  tell  me  that  that  was  chosen  by  a  decorator !  " 

"  Oh  /-^a/,"  she  said,  "  I  worked  myself  when  I  was  quite  a 
little  girl." 

"  You  did  ?  You  really  did  ?  Marvellous  !  It's  the  finest 
piece  I  have  seen  for  years.  The  colours  are  blended  with 
the  greatest  skill,  the  execution's  admirable.  I  have  never  seen 
Mary  Stuart  look  more  queenly.     It's  truly  a  work  of  art." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  could  only  murmur,  "Really,  Mr.  Johns!" 
though  she  was  evidently  pleased. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  love  art !  You  have  that  aspiration 
towards  art  which  gives  zest  to  life  and  lifts  us  out  of  the 
banality  of  things.  You  have  travelled  and  compared.  The 
art  treasures  of  the  world  have  no  secrets  for  you,  and  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  those  lovely  glasses  on  that  little  Louis  XVI. 
table  are  from  the  land  of  Dante." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  hesitated,  looking  somewhat  puzzled. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  think  we  did  buy  them  at 
Madrid — or  somewhere  like  that,  you  know." 

Johns  with  difficulty  suppressed  a  smile.  He  made  a 
mental  note — "  Art  and  literature,  blanks." 

Then  he  attacked  other  subjects — their  mutual  friends  the 
Stanfields,  and  St.  George — finding,  as  he  suspected,  that  on 
those  subjects,  as  well  as  on  the  general  doings  of  society,  Mrs, 
Humphreys  had  a  store  of  knowledge  which  she  imparted  in 
the  easy,  discreet  tone  of  a  woman  of  the  world.  Whether  her 
education  in  her  youth  had  been  neglected,  or  she  had  little 
aptitude  for  learning,  Johns  did  not  know,  but  he  was 
nevertheless  quite  sure,  both  from  the  way  she  spoke  and 
from  a  certain  something  in  her  manners,  that  she  had  always 
moved  in  the  best  circles. 

She  said  presently,  "I  met  Lord  Stanfield  yesterday  in 
Bond  Street,  and  he  spoke  of  you.  I  fancy  he  thinks  highly 
of  you.     He  said  you  were  likely  to  make  a  mark." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  145 

"It's  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Johns,  "and  I've  quite  made 
up  my  mind  to  try." 

She  continued,  "Only  if  I  might  ask  a  question,  why  are 
you  editor  of  one  of  those  papers  that — well,  that  no  one 
sees  ?  " 

This  time  Johns  smiled  openly. 

"  It  isn't  given  to  every  one,  Mrs.  Humphreys,  to  choose  his 
lot  in  life.  When  I  came  over  from  Australia,  that  was  what 
fell  to  me,  and  I  couldn't  consult  my  tastes." 

The  widow  almost  seemed  surprised,  but  after  a  moment's 
reflection  she  said,  "No,  I  suppose  one  can't  very  well  in  those 
cases,  but  of  course  you  won't  remain  for  ever  at  the — the " 

"The  Planet"  Johns  interposed. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  could  not  recollect  the  name." 

"  One  cannot  see  into  one's  own  fate,"  he  said. 

With  something  like  a  sigh  she  answered,  "Ah,  no,  one 
cannot !  No  one  knows  that  so  well  as  I,"  and  there  was  a 
pause  which  Johns  thought  it  better  not  to  interrupt.  Possibly 
she  was  trying  to  think  of  the  late  Mr.  Humphreys. 

The  pause  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant  with 
a  tea  tray.  Mrs.  Humphreys  poured  Johns  out  a  cup  of 
fragrant  tea  in  a  chaste  Sbvres  cup.  After  he  had  taken  a  few 
sips,  feeling  stimulated,  he  recommenced — 

"  I  once  knew  a  man  who  said  he  could  control  his  fate,  and 
how  do  you  think  he  tried  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  have  no  idea." 

"  By  simply  doing  the  opposite  of  what  he  wished  to  do.  If 
he  felt  inclined  to  take  a  walk,  he  stopped  at  home;  if  he 
wanted  to  stay  in,  he  took  a  walk ;  if  he  wanted  to  smoke,  he 
didn't;  if  he  didn't  want  to  smoke,  he  did,  and  so  on — 
contradicting  all  his  tastes.  Only  the  worst  of  it  was,  when  he 
didn't  want  to  die — he  did." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  laughed. 

"Well,  now,  I,"  continued  Johns,  "don't  believe  that  fate 
can  be  controlled,  and  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that  I  was 
predestined  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Humphreys;  I  am  perfectly 
convinced  that  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  St.  George  and 
that  he  took  me  to  Berkeley  Square  the  other  afternoon,  all 
because  it  was  arranged  by  fate.  Nothing  will  take  that  little 
superstition  from  me." 

"  Well,  really,  Mr.  Johns,  perhaps  it  was.  We  have  already 
made  so  much  progress  in  our  acquaintance  that  it  does  seem 
as  if  we  were  meant  to  meet.  I  have  always  liked  to  know 
people  like  you  who  direct  papers.  The  Press  is  such  a 
power ! " 

L 


146  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

Johns  thought,  "Where  did  she  pick  that  phrase  up,  I 
wonder?"  and  he  said  with  gravity,  "Yes,  Mrs.  Humphreys, 
journalism  can  be  made  to  lead  a  long  way,  a  very  long 
way,  indeed,  but  it's  a  life  of  many  worries." 

Then,  putting  down  the  tea  cup,  and  suddenly  bending 
forward  in  his  chair  as  if  he  were  moved  by  an  earnest  thought, 
he  said,  "  Mrs.  Humphreys,  I've  known  you  only  a  little  while, 
and  yet  I  feel  extraordinarily  tempted  to  ask  a  favour  of  you." 

"  Please  do,  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  delighted." 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  and  see  you  sometimes  when  you're 
not  surrounded  by  your  friends,  just  like  to-day,  so  that  I  may 
have  something  to  look  forward  to  in  the  struggle  of  the  week, 
so  that  I  may  be  able  to  tell  myself  that  at  least  one  hour  of  it 
will  be  free  from  worry,  will  be  full  of  charm  ?  " 

"Oh,"  she  said,  smiling,  "if  that's  all  you  ask,  it's  easily 
granted.  The  only  little  difficulty  is  that  my  friends,  as  soon 
as  they  know  I'm  in  town,  so  seldom  let  me  have  an  hour  to 
myself." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  such  a  favourite ! " 

"  But  still  if  you  will  come  and  lunch  with  me  sometimes, 
there  will  be  no  one  then  but  my  companion,  Miss  Sinclair, 
who  is  spending  two  days  in  the  country.  For  you  know  I 
must  have  her  by  me :  you're  such  a  dangerous  man,  I'm 
told." 

"No,  no,  not  dangerous,  and  thank  you  infinitely.  Yes,  I 
will  come  to  lunch  with  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  How 
I  shall  look  forward  to  those  days  ! " 

"Don't  thank  me,  but  come  on  Saturday." 

"  On  Saturday ! " 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  Johns  shortly  afterwards  withdrew. 

As  he  walked  home  he  said  to  himself,  "  They're  all  alike, 
those  women.  That  one  has  quite  enough  experience  of  life 
to  know  that  I  was  talking  rot,  and  yet  she  liked  it  hugely. 
Yes,  they're  all  the  same.  The  most  sagacious  of  them  is 
delighted  by  a  compliment,  and  the  silliest  goes  simply  into 
ecstacy.  By  God !  though,  seven  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
and  only  such  a  head  to  manage  it !     It  isn't  right.     Some 

body's  wanted  to  put  order  there.     I  wonder  if .     Why 

not  ? "  and  he  sauntered  through  the  Green  Park  homewards, 
indulging  in  a  golden  dream. 


CHAPTER 
TENTH 

AS  the  summer  progressed,  Johns's  popularity  among  his 
new  friends  rapidly  increased.  His  little  stories,  which 
he  had  endeavoured  to  make  humorous,  knowing  that  humour 
is  always  popular,  had  been  pronounced  inimitable.  He  had 
varied  them  with  trite  sayings  and  peculiar  epigrams,  which 
were  soon  repeated  from  house  to  house  as  examples  of  a  novel 
kind  of  wit. 

At  the  Stanfields  he  had  become  a  frequent  visitor,  and  by 
dint  of  perseverance  he  had  succeeded  in  overcoming  the 
frigidity  of  even  Lady  Stanfield.  But  what  gave  him  the 
greatest  satisfaction,  the  most  pleasant  feeling  of  security,  was 
the  advances  he  had  made  in  the  good  graces  of  Mrs. 
Humphreys,  who  received  him  now  as  an  old  acquaintance. 
It  was  true  that  she  continued  to  disapprove  of  the  Evening 
Planet^  as  she  called  it,  and  had  asked  him  questions  about 
his  family  which  he  had  found  it  difficult  to  answer,  but  he 
believed  so  strongly  in  the  power  of  human  nature  to  conquer 
prejudice  that  he  still  nourished  certain  hopes  which  he  con- 
fessed to  no  one,  but  which  grew  stronger  as  the  days  went  by. 

Unfortunately  for  their  realization,  two  women  somewhat 
blocked  the  way.  Mrs.  Weber  was  growing  difficult  to  quiet. 
It  was  useless  now  for  him  to  tell  her  that  they  must  wait  until 
the  paper  ha<  outstripped  its  rivals;  she  knew  from  Parker  that 
it  was  flourishing,  and  that  Dawson  had  increased  Johns's 
salary,  declaring  that  he  was  simply  indispensable.  And  some- 
times, when  she  was  particularly  bitter  and  reproached  him 
with  not  keeping  his  promise  to  her,  he  would  be  on  the  point 
of  telling  her  that  he  didn't  intend  to  listen  any  longer  to  her 
lamentations.  But  always  that  seductive  beauty,  which  he  had 
DOt  yet  seen  equalled,  even  in  the  ciicles  he  now  moved  in. 


I4S  THE  ADVENTURES 

restrained  him.  Twice  when  she  had  wished  to  make  a  scene 
while  he  was  with  her,  he  had  left  the  house  suddenly  without 
a  word,  and  each  time  he  had  received  a  letter  the  next 
morning  imploring  pardon  and  promising  reform.  He  had 
irritated  her  by  refusing  to  introduce  her  to  the  Stanfields,  on 
the  plea  that  as  a  bachelor  he  could  not  do  so,  and  by  always 
objecting  to  her  coming  to  see  him  in  his  rooms.  She  was 
nervous  and  excitable,  tender  and  irritable  in  turns,  and  her 
thoughts,  he  knew,  were  always  centred  in  the  marriage 
question. 

Mrs.  Dawson,  although  more  reasonable  and  resigned  to 
seeing  him  only  once  a  fortnight,  since  he  had  said  his  work 
prevented  him  from  devoting  more  time  to  her,  was  so  hope- 
lessly engrossed  in  her  passion  for  him  that  he  was  almost 
inclined  to  feel  some  little  pity  for  her  when  she  gazed  into  his 
eyes  or  nestled  like  a  child  in  his  arms,  with  the  infatuation  of 
a  woman  in  love  for  the  first  time.  And  even  on  the  days 
when  he  found  her  tiresome  and  burdensome,  he  could  not 
help  admitting  that  she  possessed  a  certain  naiveness  in  her 
love  which  was  not  without  its  charm.  Besides,  she  never 
worried  him  like  Mrs.  Weber. 

There  were  days,  however,  when  both  his  mistresses  annoyed 
and  wearied  him ;  days  when  he  wanted  to  think  of  his  own 
plans  which  he  could  not  mention  to  them,  and  when  he 
merely  saw  in  them  the  means  of  a  passing  gratification  ;  days 
when  he  wished,  as  soon  as  he  was  no  longer  with  them,  that 
they  might  each  fall  in  love  with  other  men,  who  would  take 
them  off  his  hands.  Why  couldn't  they  see  that  all  irregular 
love  affairs  are  doomed  to  fizzle  out  ?  How  dense  these  women 
were! 

One  afternoon  in  June,  however,  an  event  occurred  which 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis. 

Mrs.  Dawson  had  been  spending  an  hour  with  him  in  his 
rooms  in  Jermyn  Street.  While  she  was  putting  on  her  gloves 
to  leave,  she  paused  to  look  at  him  admiringly,  as  he  sat 
languidly  in  his  arm-chair,  sending  puffs  of  smoke  from  his 
cigar  upwards  to  the  ceiling. 

"Ah,  Johnnie,"  she  said,  "  you  will  never  know  how  much  I 
love  you." 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  ill-humouredly,  without  looking  at  her, 
"  I  ought  to  know  it,  you  tell  me  often  enough." 

She  stopped  in  the  act  of  buttoning  her  glove,  and  her 
expression  changed. 

"Oh,  how  unkind  that  sounds  !" 

**  Vou  think  everything  one  says  unkind." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  149 

She  said,  drawing  nearer,  "Yol  are  worried  to-day  about 
something — is  that  why  you  seem  so  cold?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is.     I've  more  worries  than  you  think." 

"Why  not  tell  me?  You  know  my  husband  would  do 
anything  for  you  now." 

"  I  should  rather  think  he  would,  after  I've  stuck  his  paper 
on  its  legs  again;  but  I  don't  trouble  much  about  him  now,  I 
can  tell  you.  He  has  to  trouble  about  me.  I  should  be 
curious  to  know,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Dawson  side- 
ways, "what  he  would  say  if  he  happened  to  appear  at  the 
present  moment." 

But  she  shook  her  head  and  answered,  "  Don't  let  us  talk  of 
that.     It's  too  dreadful." 

"  It  isn't  so  impossible  either.  He  came  here  one  evening 
last  week  to  see  me — the  old  fool." 

"Oh,  John,  please  don't  speak  of  him  like  that.  I  never 
loved  him,  never;  but  I  can't  forget  that  he  married  me  without 
a  penny." 

Johns  thought,  "And  this  is  the  way  you  show  your 
gratitude ! " 

"  I'm  afraid,  John,"  she  continued,  "  that  those  new  people 
you  have  met  have  made  you  think  less  of  us  than  you  did 
before." 

In  spite  of  the  mildness  of  the  reproach,  and  the  timid 
way  in  which  it  was  made,  Johns  was  vexed.  In  his  irritable 
state  of  mind  he  construed  this  into  a  reflection  upon  his 
origin. 

"  Why  not  say  at  once,"  he  said,  sharply,  "  that  you  think 
I'm  snobbish." 

"  No,  John,  I  didn't  mean  that.     You  know  I  didn't." 

"  It  sounded  like  it." 

She  could  only  sigh,  "How  unkind  you  are  to-day!" 

But  he  was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  her,  and,  instead  of  replying, 
looked  at  the  clock  upon  the  mantel-piece.  After  all,  she  was 
another  man's  wife,  and  therefore  a  dangerous  person  to  be 
discovered  on  the  premises  in  a  country  where  the  divorce 
laws  were  so  stupid.  He  didn't  want  to  spoil  his  chances  by  a 
public  scandal,  the  damaging  effect  of  which  he  knew.  It  was 
foolish  of  him  to  receive  her  there  at  all,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  at  once  that  before  their  next  meeting  he  would  write  and 
tell  her  so.  He  had  been  acting  with  too  much  indecision, 
with  a  great  deal  too  much  imprudence.  All  that  must  be 
remedied — now  that  circumstances  were  changed. 

After  a  few  moments,  as  she  did  not  move,  he  said,  "  I 
sbpuld  think  you'd  better  be  going  home  \  it's  getting  late." 


I50  THE  ADVENTURES 

But  she  still  stood  motionless,  looking  on  the  ground,  and 
slowly  a  tear  trickled  down  her  cheek. 

He  rose  now,  and,  approaching  her,  took  one  of  her  gloved 
hands  in  his. 

"Come,  Lucy,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  rather  softer, 
'•  what  is  all  this  about  ?    You  know  we  must  be  prudent." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  we  must,"  she  said,  sadly ;  "  I  suppose  I 
must  go.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Lucy,  don't  be  upset.  I'll  write  to  you  again 
soon." 

With  a  faint  smile  she  left. 

"  Ouf,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed ;  "  she  has 
taken  it  in  earnest !  " 

He  took  a  cigar  from  an  open  box  upon  the  table,  and  was 
in  the  act  of  lighting  it  before  sitting  down  to  think  over  the 
situation,  when  the  door  was  suddenly  burst  open,  and  Mrs. 
Weber,  flushed  and  excited,  rushed  into  the  room. 

Placing  herself  before  him  defiantly,  her  eyes  flashing  as  he 
had  never  seen  them  flash  before,  she  began — 

**Now  I  understand  your  hesitation,  you  treacherous  little 
cad !  You  wanted  to  wait  until  the  paper  had  done  this,  until 
the  paper  had  done  that.  You  thought  it  better  to  be  prudent; 
it  wasn't  the  right  month,  and  a  hundred  other  lies.  And  all 
the  time  you  had  been  stealing  the  wife  of  your  own  master. 
Oh,  you  little  wretch,  you  dirty  little  wretch ! " 

Johns,  who  had  turned  pale,  summoned  all  the  dignity  he 
could  command. 

"  I  don't  understand  you.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Stamping  her  foot,  she  said,  "  You're  not  going  to  deny,  I 
should  imagine.  It  would  be  too  feeble  of  you,  since  I've 
seen  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  Seen  what  ?  " 

"Seen  Lucy  Dawson  go  away  from  here  only  a  minute 
ago.  I  didn't  think  it  possible  you  could  have  been  such 
a  sneak." 

Johns  was  silent  for  a  moment,  counting  up  the  issues.  Then, 
when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  attitude  he  should 
adopt,  he  quietly  struck  another  match  and  went  on  lighting 
his  cigar. 

Exasperated  by  his  silence  and  this  indiffierence,  she  almost 
shrieked — 

"  Well,  have  you  become  dumb  as  well  ?  " 

He  answered,  "  Of  your  abuse  I  take  no  notice ;  you  may 
think  just  what  you  please." 

"  Ha,  you  can't  deny  it !  you  can't  deny  it !    To  think  tbj^t 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  151 

I  took  pity  on  you  when  you  were  only  a  bit  of  a  reporter,  and 
did  for  you  what  no  other  woman  would,  and " 

She  paused  a  moment  to  reflect,  and  then,  as  if  struck  by  a 
sudden  thought,  began  again — "Oh,  I  see  it  all  now.  Long 
ago,  when  you  were  half-starving,  when  I  spoke  to  her  of  you, 
she  got  confused,  and  would  say  nothing.  No,  because  she 
was  coming  to  these  rooms  to  visit  you,  and  all  the  time 
you  were  paying  for  them  with  my  money !  Oh  you — you 
hypocrite ! " 

Johns  had  winced  several  times  under  the  violence  of  the 
abuse,  but  maintaining,  with  an  eifort,  his  calm  demeanour,  he 
replied,  "  If  it's  the  poor  little  fifty  pounds  that  you're  alluding 
to,  my  fine  Ellen,  I'll  give  you  a  cheque  at  once." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,  I  won't  touch  it.  You  needn't 
think  you're  going  to  get  off  like  that.  I  warned  you  once  that 
if  you  deceived  me,  you'd  repent  it,  and  I  intend  to  keep 
my  word.  Dawson  shall  know  the  kind  of  editor  he  has 
to-morrow." 

But  this  time  he  was  roused.  "  You'd  better  not,"  he  said, 
"  and  if  you'll  wait  a  moment,  I'll  tell  you  why." 

Saying  this,  he  crossed  the  room  to  a  secretaire  which  stood 
in  the  window,  and  unlocked  one  of  its  drawers  by  means  of  a 
key  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket.  Then  he  took  from  it  a 
piece  of  paper,  which  he  unfolded. 

"On  the  15th,  19th,  2ist,  25th,  and  31st  of  August,"  he 
said,  glancing  at  the  paper,  "  Parker  was  with  you  at  Maiden- 
head under  circumstances  which  it's  needless  for  me  to  mention. 
From  September  of  last  year  to  the  present  time  he  has  been 
a  frequent  visitor  at  Carsdale  Mansions — never  on  Wednesdays 
— and  at  certain  times  he  has  stayed  till  the  next  morning.  The 
dates  are  all  carefully  noted  on  this  piece  of  paper,  and  I  think 
it's  useless  to  make  any  remark  about  it ;  only  remember — that 
when  I'm  threatened,  I  know  how  to  defend  myself." 

She  remained  speechless  with  astonishment,  glancing  alter- 
nately at  Johns  and  at  the  paper  he  was  holding  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  at  length,  "  you've  even  been  mean  enough  to 
have  me  watched." 

"  So  you  see,"  he  continued,  quietly  folding  up  the  slip  and 
putting  it  in  his  pocket,  "  we  can  both  denounce." 

"  You've  no  proof,"  she  said. 

"  I've  more  than  you,"  he  answered,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
they  stood  facing  each  other  without  speaking. 

"After  all,"  she  continued  presently,  "what  do  I  care? 
I've  less  to  lose  than  you,  and  whatever  you  choose  to  do  won't 
prevent  me  from  acting  as  I  please." 


15*  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Very  well,  we  shall  see  who  gets  the  best  of  it." 

But  as  she  stood  before  him  in  her  defiant  attitude,  her  eyes 
flashing,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  never  looked  so  hand- 
some, and  he  advanced  towards  her  and  seized  her  arm.  Then, 
drawing  her  towards  him  before  she  could  resist,  he  said 
roughly — 

"  That's  enough  of  that  cursed  nonsense.  You  know  per- 
fectly well  we  like  each  other ! " 

"  Don't  be  brutal,"  she  said,  holding  herself  away  from  him. 
"  Will  you  keep  your  promise  ?    Yes  or  no  ?  " 

Before  answering,  he  looked  into  her  face,  and  his  peering 
eyes  met  hers  in  a  gaze  of  mingled  passion  and  defiance. 
Then,  in  a  firm  tone,  he  answered  "  No  ! I  won't." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  after  a  deep  breath,  "now  you  come  out  in 
your  true  colours.  You  refuse  now,  not  because  of  Parker — 
what  would  he  matter  if  you  thought  it  to  your  interest  to  marry 
me  ? — but  because  you  think  that,  now  you've  got  in  with  those 
big  people,  you  can  do  better.     Oh,  you  little  cad/" 

"  You'd  better  not  irritate  me,"  he  said,  beginning  to  lose 
patience,  and  stung  by  the  reiteration  of  the  word  cad. 

"  Let  go  my  arm,  you  brute  ! " 

He  released  his  hold,  but  with  a  push  which  sent  her  violently 
backwards. 

"  That's  right,"  she  said,  defying  him  ;  "  it's  just  what  one 
might  expect  from  a  man  of  your  origin.  As  if  I  didn't  know 
that  you  were  the  son  of  an  old  fisherman.  I've  »iy  sources  of 
information,  too." 

*'  By  God,"  said  Johns,  thoroughly  roused  this  time,  "  if  you 
don't  stop  I'll,  I'll " 

He  faltered  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence,  for  his  indignation 
was  so  great  that  it  confused  his  thoughts. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  she  asked,  sneeringly;  "  I'm  not  afraid 
of  you,  you  Guernseyman." 

Johns,  for  reasons  which  he  could  scarcely  have  defined,  had 
a  particular  dislike  to  be  called  a  Guernseyman,  and  this  last 
insult  added  gall  to  wormwood. 

"What will  I  do?"  he  repeated;  "I'll ,  by  God,  I'll  put 

you  out  of  here." 

"  You'd  better  wait  till  I  go  of  my  own  free  will,  which  won't 
be  long,  unless  you  want  to  make  a  scandal  on  the  landing." 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  he  muttered. 

"  To  take  a  last  look  at  an  adventurer  such  as  one  doesn't 
often  meet." 

He  sprang  upon  her,  and,  seizing  her  by  the  waist,  dragged  her 
to  the  sofa,  and  there  they  struggled  with  each  other  for  a  few 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  153 

moments,  he,  in  a  fit  of  exasperation,  trying  to  force  her  into 
subjection,  she  battUng  against  him  with  strength  he  had  never 
known  her  to  possess.  At  length,  seeing  a  heavy  paper-knife 
which  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  she  seized  it  before  he  could 
prevent  her  and  struck  him  heavily  across  the  face.  Then,  as 
he  released  his  hold,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  in  another 
instant  she  was  gone. 

Johns,  half-stunned  at  first  by  the  blow  he  had  received,  and 
suffering  pain  from  a  contusion  of  his  left  eye,  rose  muttering 
an  oath  and  went  up  to  the  glass.  A  round,  red  mark  showed 
the  place  upon  the  high  cheek-bone  where  the  handle  of  the 
paper-knife  had  struck,  and  his  eye,  which  he  could  only  open 
with  some  difficulty,  was  inflamed  and  infused  with  blood. 

"  Curse  her,"  he  said,  "  she's  bruised  me  for  a  week  ! " 

As  he  was  smarting  with  pain,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  presently 
the  valet  came. 

**  Edward,"  he  said,  "  I've  fallen  on  that  damned  fender.  Go 
and  get  me  something  for  a  bruised  eye." 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  the  man  said,  and  vanished. 

While  he  was  gone,  Johns,  holding  his  handkerchief  to  his 
face,  indulged  in  his  reflections.  What  a  devil  she  had  shown 
herself  as  she  stood  there  taunting  him  !  How  her  eyes  had 
flashed  with  fire  as  she  had  called  him  every  name  she  could 
invent !  Yes,  she  was  a  woman  of  the  kind  he  liked,  and  yet 
henceforth  she  was  going  to  be  an  enemy — curse  her !  For 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it,  she  was  quite  capable  of  carrying  out 
her  threat.  In  fact,  there  were  nine  chances  to  one  she  would. 
She  had  been  smart  enough  to  see  that  the  consequences  would 
fall  heavier  on  him  than  they  would  on  her  in  case  of  an 
exposure.  He  was  quite  alive  to  the  danger  of  the  situation^ 
and  he  knew  that  his  position  was  not  yet  so  solidly  established 
that  a  scandal,  particularly  one  of  this  character,  might  not 
make  the  whole  fabric  tumble  about  his  ears.  Yes,  he  had  got 
into  an  awkward  corner  when  he  least  expected  to,  and  there 
was  no  knowing  how  he  was  to  get  out.  Although  he  had  not 
told  her  lately  much  of  his  affairs,  still  she  knew  enough  of 
them  to  do  considerable  harm.  And  the  more  he  thought  ot 
it,  the  more  numerous  the  weak  points  in  his  position  seemed, 
and  he  began  to  call  himself  a  fool  for  having  delayed  so  long 
in  breaking  with  her.  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  got 
up  a  quarrel  about  some  trifle,  and  then  refused  to  be  propi- 
tiated, while  now  he  had  stupidly  exposed  himself  to  danger. 
Excited  as  he  was  by  what  had  happened  that  afternoon,  his 
imagination  got  the  better  of  his  reason  and  magnified  the 
peril     Clearly  he  fancied  he  could  see  what  was  going  to  take 


154  THE  ADVENTURES 

place  in  the  exact  order  of  its  happening.  First,  Dawson  would 
learn  from  Mrs.  Weber  his  intimacy  with  his  wife;  then  he 
would  lose  his  post  of  editor,  finally  a  divorce  suit  would  achieve 
his  ruin,  materially  and  socially.  And  the  fond  dreams  he  had 
been  dreaming  would  vanish  into  thin  air.  Ah,  that  was  a  fine 
ending  to  a  career  which  had  begun  so  brilliantly,  to  success 
that  had  made  all  London  talk  !  A  pretty  chance  he'd  have  of 
beginning  life  again  under  such  auspices !  There  would  be 
little  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  go  back  to  Australia  and  live 
again  upon  his  wits.  How  was  it  possible  he  had  been  such  a 
fool?  As  for  Mrs.  Dawson,  whether  she  had  seen  her  rival 
coming  up  the  stairs  or  not  he  did  not  know ;  but  he  imagined 
that  one  woman  under  such  circumstances  would  scarcely  fail 
to  see  another.  He  felt  quite  sure  that  she  would  not  be  vin- 
dictive; but  who  knew  whether  she  might  not,  conscience- 
struck,  confess — as  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  doing  once — 
when  questioned  by  her  husband?  Oh,  it  was  a  fine  imbroglio ! 
He  was  sick  of  his  own  stupidity.  He  sat  in  his  arm-chair 
thinking  gloomily  until  the  man  returned  with  a  lotion  from 
the  chemist,  with  which  he  at  once  began  to  bath  his  eye  and 
his  bruised  cheek. 

When  he  had  finished  doing  this,  he  returned  to  the  parlour. 
Pouring  himself  out  a  glass  of  Kiimmel  from  the  liqueur 
stand  on  the  sideboard,  he  drank  it,  and  then  sat  down  to 
think. 

Gradually  now,  as  he  felt  a  little  calmer,  his  ideas  began  to 
form  themselves  into  plans  of  self-defence.  Perhaps  after  all 
things  might  not  go  so  badly  for  him  as  he  had  thought  at 
first,  and  in  any  case,  if  she  accused  him,  it  would  be  very 
diflScult  for  her  to  furnish  proof.  He  had  never  received  Mrs. 
Dawson  anywhere  but  in  his  own  rooms,  and  as  he  had  given 
her  a  key  of  the  glass  door  on  the  ground  floor  (the  front  door 
was  always  kept  open),  no  one,  he  thought,  not  even  the  valet 
of  the  place,  had  seen  her — no  one  but  Mrs.  Weber,  who,  now 
he  came  to  think  of  it,  must  have  had  the  door  opened  for  her 
by  her  rival  as  she  was  going  out.  It  was  thus  they  must  have 
met. 

Well,  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  send  her  back  her 
money,  and  the  next  was  to  deny  consistently,  since  so  little 
proof  could  be  brought  against  him,  unless  it  were  in  the  form 
of  a  few  letters  in  ambiguous  terms  which  he  had  been  obliged 
to  write  to  Mrs.  Dawson  at  different  times. 

Yes,  that  was  the  only  course  open  to  him  to  pursue  if  Mrs. 
Weber  carried  out  her  threat,  which,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was 
just  possible  she  mi^ht  refrain  from  doing  when  she  reflected 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  155 

that  she  herself  could  not  come  out  unscathed  from  any 
exposure  she  might  provoke.  Having  resolved  upon  this 
course,  he  went  to  his  desk,  took  a  cheque-book  from  a  drawer, 
wrote  out  a  cheque  for  ;^5o  to  "self  or  bearer,"  and  wrapped  it 
in  a  blank  piece  of  paper.  This  he  placed  in  an  envelope 
which  he  addressed  to  Mrs.  Weber.  Then  he  rang  the  bell 
again,  and  when  the  valet  came  he  gave  the  letter  to  him  to 
post,  telling  him  that  he  would  have  dinner  that  evening  in 
his  rooms,  and  that  he  was  not  at  home  for  ar.yone. 

The  evening  was  the  gloomiest  he  had  passed  since  he  had 
been  in  Jermyn  Street.  In  spite  of  himself  he  was  tortured 
by  a  sense  of  insecurity,  by  an  acute  feeling  of  uncertainty. 
He  could  not  read,  for  his  eye  still  troubled  him,  and  he  sat  in 
his  chair  after  dinner  unable  to  take  his  thoughts  from  the  one 
question  on  which  they  were  now  centred — what  was  going  to 
happen  on  the  morrow  ?  Tired  of  turning  it  over  and  over  in 
his  mind,  he  went  to  bed  shortly  after  ten.  But  to  his  surprise 
he  found  that  he  could  not  sleep.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  any  mishap  of  his  had  been  able  to  keep  him  awake, 
and  he  asked  himself  why  it  was  so  this  time.  He  supposed 
it  was  because  he'd  never  before  been  playing  for  such  high 
stakes.  Yes,  that  must  be  the  reason.  He  hated  suspense  of 
any  kind,  and  it  had  a  great  effect  upon  his  nerves.  When  the 
morning  came  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  looked  at  himself  in 
the  glass.  The  contusion  round  the  cheek-bone  was  less 
inflamed,  and  his  eye  was  rather  better.  He  was  not  quite 
presentable,  he  knew,  but  still  he  thought  that,  even  as  he  was, 
he  had  better  go  to  the  office  to  defend  himself  if  needful,  on 
the  principle  that  the  absent  are  always  wrong. 

He  dressed  slowly  and  carefully,  and  after  he  had  taken  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll,  he  left  for  the  Strand  on  foot.  It  was 
still  early;  the  fresh  morning  air  invigorated  him  and  made 
him  feel  that  his  old  spirit  of  combativeness  was  coming  back 
to  him.  Nothing  perhaps  would  happen  that  day;  but  if  it 
did,  he  was  now  prepared  to  face  it.  He  didn't  want  to  think 
of  the  possibility  of  things  going  wrong.  He  would  not  think 
of  it.  And  with  this  resolve  he  took  his  seat  in  the  editorial 
chair  and  began  his  work,  calling  Maskelyne  to  help  him  and 
issuing  his  orders  to  the  whole  staflF  unmercifully,  giving  each 
at  least  three  days'  work  to  perform  in  as  many  hours.  The 
Conservative  Report  had  dared  to  sneer  at  them  the  day  before, 
had  it?  Then  Maskelyne  was  to  write  a  paragraph  which 
would  make  the  whole  staff  of  the  rival  paper  smart  and  gnash 
their  teeth.  And  Maskelyne,  who  knew  very  well  from  past 
experience  that  Johns  would  strike  out  the  wrathful  par  fron 


iS6  THE  ADVENTURES 

prudence  before  the  paper  went  to  press,  smiled  and  began  to 
scribble  something.  Towards  eleven  Tarte  came  into  Johns's 
room  with  the  face  of  an  ambassador.  His  right  hand  resting 
on  the  top  button  of  his  long  frock  coat  in  a  Beaconsfieldian 
attitude,  his  left  placed  upon  the  desk,  he  said,  with  his  usual 
calm  precision,  *'  Mr.  Dawson  asks  if  you  will  be  kind  enough 
to  step  into  his  room." 

Johns  turned  round  quickly  in  his  chair  as  though  he  had 
been  struck,  and  faced  the  old  man  so  savagely  that  the 
latter  drew  back  a  step,  amazed.  But  Johns,  after  the  first 
impression  which  the  words  had  caused,  had  suddenly  turned 
pale.     He  rose  at  once  and  said,  "  All  right,  I'm  going." 

Of  late  it  had  been  Dawson's  habit  to  come  in  to  Johns's 
room  when  he  had  anything  to  say.  The  change  that  day 
evidently  meant  that  Mrs.  Weber  had  kept  her  word. 

But  from  the  moment  he  stepped  into  the  room,  he  saw 
that  his  apprehensions  were  unfounded.  Dawson  received 
him  as  affably  as  usual,  and  requesting  him  to  take  a  seat, 
began — 

•'  I've  asked  you  to  come  in  here  because  I  had  to  speak  to 
you  of  something  which  is  best  mentioned  where  we  are  in 
private." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  one  of  those  envelopes 
of  a  peculiar  terra-cotta  colour  which  are  used  to  enclose 
telegrams,  and  drew  a  message  from  it 

Unfolding  the  pink  sheet,  he  handed  it  to  Johns  who  read, 
"  Your  wife  is  the  mistress  of  your  editor.  This  very  day  she 
left  his  rooms  in  Jermyn  Street  at  six.     Well  informed." 

"I  need  scarcely  tell  you,"  continued  Dawson,  "that  this 
scandalous  accusation  took  us  by  surprise.  My  wife,  who  is 
so  sensitive  on  these  matters,  has  been  greatly  affected.  The 
mere  thought  that  any  aspersion  should  be  put  upon  her 
reputation  has  upset  her  terribly.  The  reason  I  have  men- 
tioned this  disgusting  slander  to  you  is  in  order  that  you  may 
know  that  you  have  an  enemy,  as  well  as  to  give  you  an 
opportunity  of  perhaps  discovering  the  author." 

Johns,  who  had  begun  to  breathe  again,  exclaimed — 

"  It  seems  incredible  that  there  should  be  such  blackguards ! 
I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Dawson,  for  showing  me  this  so 
frankly.  I  have  only  a  vague  suspicion  as  to  the  author  or 
the  authoress;  but  until  I  have  found  out,  I  prefer  not  to 
mention  names.  It's  the  most  odious  piece  of  slander  that 
ever  was  invented,  and  I'm  deeply  sorry  that  Mrs.  Dawson 
should  be  so  much  disturbed.  I  hope  that  you  will  tell  her 
that  it  should  be  tr^t^  as  beneath  contempt,  and  that  if  I 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  157 

am  successful  in  discovering  the  perpetrator,  he  or  she  shall 
be  punished." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Dawson;  "I  have  already  told  her 
that  she  must  not  trouble  herself;  but,  of  course,  sensitive  as 
she  is,  it  affects  her  greatly." 

Johns  thought,  "It  must,"  and  said,  "Yes,  no  doubt,  and 
I  hope  you  will  tell  her  how  much  I  sympathize  with  her,  and 
how  much  I  regret  the  incident." 

"I  won't  fail  to  do  so,"  Dawson  answered,  "and  now,  let's 
talk  no  more  about  the  wretched  thing." 

Then,  noticing  suddenly  the  mark  on  Johns's  cheek,  he  asked, 
"  But  what's  the  matter  with  your  face  ?  " 

Johns  answered,  "  A  stupid  fall  I  had  yesterday  afternoon  in 
Berkeley  Square.  Just  as  I  was  going  to  make  a  call  I  slipped 
on  the  pavement  and  fell  upon  the  door-step.  But  it's  nothing 
— a  mere  bruise." 

Dawson's  curiosity  being  satisfied,  he  said  no  more,  and 
Johns,  declaring  that  he  was  very  busy,  went  back  to  his  own 
room. 

He  was  delighted  at  the  turn  things  had  taken,  and  amused 
at  the  credulity  of  the  proprietor. 

"  Ha,  my  fine  Ellen,"  he  chuckled,  "  your  telegram  wasn't  of 
much  good.  If  you  don't  do  better  than  that,  you're  not 
dangerous." 

As  long,  he  thought,  as  Mrs.  Dawson  was  only  "  upset,"  as 
her  husband  called  it,  and  didn't  let  her  feelings  get  the  better 
of  her  discretion,  there  was  nothing  lost.  In  fact,  since  the 
husband  refused  to  listen,  like  the  silly  man  he  was,  everything 
was  for  the  best,  and  Johns  indulged  in  reflections  which  were 
scarcely  flattering  to  the  intelligence  of  Dawson. 

When  he  returned  that  evening,  a  letter  was  awaiting  him. 
It  was  from  Mrs.  Dawson,  and  it  began — 

"  Dear  John." 

"  Oh,"  he  thought,  "  if  she  begins  like  that  it's  all  right." 

"  I  cannot  express  the  fearful  trouble  which  has  come  upon 
me  since  I  left  you  yesterday.  I  am  so  heart-broken  that  I 
can  scarcely  write.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  what 
has  happened.  You  will  have  known  it  from  her  and  from  my 
husband.  It  was  cruel  to  deceive  me  so  !  I,  who  trusted  you 
implicitly,  and  who  loved  you  as  no  woman  ever  loved  before, 
I  who  would  have  shielded  you  from  harm !  How  could  I 
have  ever  thought  that  you  would  have  been  so  faithless ! 
Even  now  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  you  have  been  (perhaps 
for  many  months)  deceiving  me  with  my  best  friend  !  If  you 
had  seen  the  look  she  gave  me  as  she  opened  the  door,  and 


158  THE  ADVENTURES 

heard  the  tone  in  which  she  asked  me  what  I  was  doing  there  ! 
I  knew  at  once  that  she  was  going  to  see  you,  and  when  that 
telegram  was  brought,  I  knew  her  jealousy  had  made  her  send 
it  And  I  was  forced  to  lie  and  act  a  part  when  my  husband 
handed  it  to  me  across  the  table.  I  was  certain  then  that 
you  had  been  false  to  me,  and  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes 
as  he  said  it  was  a  shameful  slander,  while  I  knew  that  it  was 
true  !     Oh,  how  I  wish  that  it  were  not ! 

"And  now  the  past  cannot  be  undone,  and  what  has  happened 
has  quelled  the  love  I  had  for  you,  and  made  me  one  of  the 
most  unfortunate  of  women.  For  I  am  unable  to  forget  you, 
although  everything  is  at  an  end  between  us.  To  deceive 
my  husband  pained  me  as  you  always  knew,  but  to  be 
deceived  by  the  man  I  loved  was  terrible.  Ah,  if  I  could 
have  foreseen  all  this  that  day  when  I  was  weak  enough  to 
come  to  see  you  in  your  rooms,  and  when  you  swore  you 
would  be  true!  but  it  is  the  fate  of  us  women  to  trust,  to 
love,  and  then  to  suffer.  Good-bye,  John,  may  you  never 
make  another  woman  so  wretched  as  you  have  made  youi 
once  loving  Lucy." 

"Your  once  loving  Lucy,"  he  repeated,  slowly  and 
approvingly,  made  rather  serious  by  the  tenour  of  the  letter. 
"  She's  taken  it  exactly  as  I  thought.  Good  little  Lucy 
after  all." 

Had  it  been  possible  to  dive  into  his  thoughts  at  that  moment, 
a  curious  medley  would  have  been  seen  of  satisfaction  and 
assuaged  fear,  alternating  with  a  few  twinges  of  remorse,  which 
assumed  the  shape  of  a  vague  feeling  of  discomfort.  But  the 
main  thought  which  filled  his  mind  was  that  the  sky  was  clear 
again  apparently,  and  that  he  could  continue  his  career.  That 
thought  filled  him  with  a  calm  sense  of  alleviation,  and  the 
same  evening  he  dined  pleasantly  with  St.  George  at  a  new 
restaurant  in  Regent  Street. 

The  morning  after  this,  as  his  eye  was  better  and  the  round 
mark  on  his  face  had  almost  disappeared,  he  resolved  to  take 
a  step  which  he  had  been  contemplating  for  the  last  three 
months. 

Towards  five  o'clock,  accordingly,  he  left  the  Strand  in  a 
hansom  for  Grosvenor  Place,  where  Mrs.  Humphreys  was 
expecting  him.  It  was  a  fine  summer's  afternoon,  and,  as  the 
air  was  clear,  the  London  streets  were  looking  as  well  as  the 
disfigurement  of  their  huge  advertisements  permitted.  In 
passing  the  National  Gallery,  sombre  in  its  besmeared  grandeur, 
he  saw  a  girl  with  a  fresh  and  pretty  face  coming  down  the 
steps.     And  suddenly  the  sight  caused  him  a  sharp  pang  of 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  159 

envious  regret.  For  Johns,  like  most  men,  had  dreamed  of  an 
alliance  some  day  with  youth  and  candour,  while  now — well, 
he  must  take  things  as  he  found  them,  and  make  the  best  of 
his  opportunities. 

As  he  approached  the  house  he  thought  of  the  baronet  who 
was  so  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  the  widow,  and  who  had 
been  a  formidable  thorn  in  his  side  throughout  his  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Humphreys.  The  baronet,  he  knew,  had  been 
ruined  on  the  turf,  and  was  past  middle  age,  but  belonged  to 
a  family  which  had  been  founded  during  the  crusades,  and 
Johns  thought  that,  notwithstanding  the  widow's  evident 
inclination  for  him,  this  baronet  was  still  a  rival  against  whom 
he  must  be  on  his  guard.  Whenever  they  had  met  at  the 
house  together,  there  had  been  passages  of  arms  between  them, 
in  which  Johns,  more  ready  with  his  tongue,  had  generally 
been  the  victor.  Undoubtedly  the  favour  of  the  lady  was  on 
his  side,  on  the  side  of  his  youth  and  dash,  but  then  there  was 
his  origin,  which  he  always  felt  had  been  an  obstacle.  No 
matter,  men  were  strong  and  women  weak.  There  were  few 
exceptions  to  that  rule,  and  certainly  Mrs.  Humphreys  had 
never  seemed  to  be  one  of  them.  It  was,  perhaps,  after  all, 
like  so  many  other  things,  a  question  of  pure  will,  and  he 
intended  to  use  his  power  of  willing  to  the  utmost. 

Thinking  thus,  he  reached  the  house. 

Mrs.  Humphreys  received  him  in  a  little  boudoir  on  the 
ground  floor,  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  which  were  lined  with  a 
dark  crimson  cloth,  festooned — the  red  shade  predominating 
throughout  the  room,  as  if  the  widow  had  thought  a  red 
background  the  most  suited  to  her  complexion. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  with  a  coquettish  air,  *'  how  good  I  am ; 
I've  given  up  a  concert  simply  because  you  said  in  your  letter 
you  wanted  so  much  to  see  me." 

He  answered,  in  a  voice  full  of  restrained  emotion,  "  An 
angel  is  not  better!" 

"  And  now,"  she  continued,  "  I  hope  you  have  something 
very  interesting  to  tell  me." 

He  said,  "  I  have  something  on  which  the  whole  of  my 
future  life  depends." 

''  Indeed,"  she  said,  moving  a  little,  "  what  is  it  ?" 

He  rose  from  the  chair  which  he  had  taken  on  his  entrance, 
and  quickly,  with  a  nimbleness  which  experience  had  taught 
him,  took  another  and  placed  it  at  the  side  of  hers. 

"  Can  you  not  guess  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you  not  been 
conscious  that  ever  since  the  day  when  we  made  a  pact  of 
friendship  there  has  grown  between  us  a  feeling  which  is  some- 


f6o  THE  ADVENTURES 

thing  more,  something  greater  than  mere  friendship.  You 
remember  how  it  happened  that  we  met,  and  that  immediately 
we  both  experienced  one  of  those  magnetic  sympathies  which 
are  sometimes  felt  by  two  persons  thrown  together  in  the  race 
of  life.  Ah,  that  day  when  we  first  met !  I  have  thought  of  it 
so  often  since,  so  often !  And  what  has  happened  ?  Oh,  let 
me  tell  you.  I  have  become  conscious  of  a  deep  conviction  that 
I  have  never  met  a  woman  who  embodied  so  supremely  the 
qualities  of  charm  and  grace  which  we  men  prize.  You, 
Mrs.  Humphreys — ah,  why  may  I  not  call  you  Rose  ? — have 
fascinated,  have  impressed  me  so  completely,  that  I  am  unable 
now  to  find  pleasure  in  the  society  of  other  women.  You 
have  shown  me  that  there  is  one  woman  in  the  world  who 
can  make  me  feel  that  it  is  good  to  hve,  that  there  is  joy 
and  satisfaction  in  existence." 

He  moved  a  little  closer  to  her,  and  murmured  almost  in  her 
ear,  "  I  fancy  I  detect  in  the  expression  of  that  pure  Greek 
face  a  lovely  sign  of  reciprocity.  Ah,  Rose — I  must,  I  will  call 
you  Rose — as  the  divine  Shakespeare  says,  ivhat  love  can  do, 
that  dares  love  attempt,  and  what  I  dare  attempt  is  to  ask  you 
if  you  will  be  my  wife." 

She  looked  away  from  him  with  the  air  of  a  maiden  whose 
hand  is  sought  for  the  first  time,  and,  as  she  did  not  answer, 
he  continued — 

"  You  are  silent ;  you  are  perhaps  weighing  me  in  the  balance 
with  another ;  but  let  me  tell  you.  Rose,  that  there  is  no  other 
man  among  your  friends  who  is  so  worthy  of  you,  who  would 
be  so  devoted  to  you  as  I.  I  am  something  better  than  a 
ruined  baronet,  for  I  am  an  actor  on  the  world's  stage,  and  my 
present  avocation  is  only  a  stepping-stone  to  something  higher. 
A  baronet,  indeed !  /  am  on  the  path  which  leads  much 
farther.  /,  only,  can  make  you  as  happy  as  you  deserve  to  be. 
Rose,  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense !  Tell  me  if  I  am  to  be 
your  husband ! " 

She  answered,  "  But  are  you  not  afraid  that  I  am  perhaps 
not  quite — that  you  are  perhaps  a  little  young  to  be  my 
husband  ?  " 

"  A  little  young  ! "  he  repeated,  as  if  surprised.  "  Oh,  there 
may  be  a  few  years'  difference  between  us,  but  what  of  that, 
when  nothing  shows  it,  when  you  look  as  fresh  and  comely  as 
your  own  sweet  name?  Rose,  we  should  be  an  admirable 
match  !  You,  with  your  dignity  and  beauty  ;  I,  with  what  they 
call  my  individuality.  We  should  impress  society.  We  should 
be  the  most  prominent  couple  in  all  London  !  " 

Then,  putting  his  arm  around  the  slender  waist,  he  whispered 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  x6x 

gently,  "  Rose,  my  little  Rose,  I  feel  that  you  are  going  to 
consent.  I  see  it  in  the  tremor  of  those  dainty  lips,  in  the 
lustre  of  those  matchless  eyes.  Say  yes,  and  put  an  end  to  my 
suspense." 

She  said,  "  You  were  quite  right  when  you  thought  that  there 
was  more  than  sympathy  between  us,  for,  shall  I  confess  it  ?  I, 
too,  have  always  liked  you.  You  are  so  clever,  everybody 
says  so,  and  so  manly,  and  your  face  is  more  than  handsome. 
If  you  really  are  quite  sure  that  you  would  make  a  good 
husband " 

But  before  she  had  completed  the  sentence  he  had  imprinted 
a  chaste  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Rose,  my  dearest  Rose,  how  happy  you  have  made  me ; 
why,  there  shall  not  be  a  more  devoted  husband  in  the  world ! 
You  shall  be  my  care,  my  whole  solicitude !" 

"Only,"  she  added,  presently,  "there  are  some  little  things 
we  must  arrange.  First  of  all  there's  the  Evening — whatever 
it  is — the  paper.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  continue  doing  that. 
It  wouldn't  do,  you  know,  considering  the  set  we  should  want 
to  move  in." 

"  Oh,"  said  Johns,  "  of  course  I'll  change  it  for  something 
more  congenial  to  our  party  as  soon  as  I  get  an  opportunity." 

He  said  "  our  party "  as  if  he  had  been  born  in  it,  and  she 
pursued — 

"  Lord  Stanfield  could  arrange  that  for  you,  I'm  quite  sure. 
He  owns  Reviews  and  things,  and  he's  always  so  very  kind  when 
one  asks  him  to  do  anything." 

"Of  course,"  Johns  said,  "of  course,  that  can  be  settled 
easily." 

WTiat  did  editorships  matter  to  him  now  ? 

"  And  then  there's  a  question  which  is  a  little  delicate.  It's 
about  your  family,  you  know.  I  think  you  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  they  weren't — well,  not  the  people  one  is  quite 
accustomed  to." 

Johns  waved  his  hand  to  reassure  her. 

"  Don't  be  anxious  on  that  score ;  my  progenitors,  excellent 
souls,  shall  never  trouble  us." 

"  Quite  so,"  she  said,  approvingly,  "  and,  of  course,  if  you  are 
asked,  you  might  say  they  lived  on  their  estates  somewhere. 
People  are  so  inquisitive,  you  know." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Johns,  smiling,  "  my  father  does  live  on  his 
estate  of  about  a  quarter  of  an  acre,  so  it  would  be  strictly 
accurate  to  say  so." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  laughed,  and  then  they  commenced  a  long 
chat  about  the  future.     Nothing  should  be  changed  in  their 


i6a  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

existence.  They  would  be  married  in  a  month,  and  they  would 
travel.  Then  they  would  come  back  to  Grosvenor  Place,  and 
everything  would  be  well-ordered  and  satisfactory.  Their 
engagement  could  be  given  out  at  once.  Johns  said  that  it 
would  be  quite  unnecessary  that  his  parents  should  be  present 
at  the  wedding.  No  mention  need  be  made  of  them  unless 
it  were  to  say  that  they  were  ill,  and  could  not  come,  or  any 
other  little  fiction  of  the  kind,  and  no  time  would  be  lost  in 
seeing  Lord  Stanfield  about  the  change  in  his  position.  Mrs. 
Humphreys  also  thought  that  they  might  buy  a  Magazine, 
"  or  something,"  and  that  in  that  way  her  Johnnie  would  be 
his  own  master,  and  of  course  he  acquiesced  readily  in  such 
a  proposition.  And  every  day  now,  she  told  him  tenderly, 
he  must  come  to  see  her,  without  missing  a  single  day,  and 
he  must  go  to  her  photographer  and  have  a  portrait  taken  of 
himself,  so  that  she  might  keep  it  by  her  when  he  was  absent, 
and  she  was  going  to  give  a  big  dinner  to  celebrate  their 
engagement.  She  formed  a  host  of  projects  of  the  kind,  with 
all  of  which  Johns  expressed  himself  delighted. 

Then,  as  he  was  leaving,  with  a  touching  coyness,  she 
whispered  softly,  "  John,  you  naughty  man,  you  can  give  me  a 
nice  kiss." 

He  did  not  need  to  be  asked  twice,  and  with  all  the  enthu- 
siasm he  could  command,  he  pressed  his  lips  on  hers,  thus 
sealing  the  bargain  he  had  just  concluded. 


CHAPTER 
ELEVENTH 

JOHNS  left  his  rooms  the  next  morning  with  a  superb  feeling 
of  power  and  intensity.  He  was  a  new  man.  He  was 
lifted  an  immeasurable  distance  above  the  heads  of  those  he 
had  come  in  contact  with  at  the  start  of  his  career.  In  a  little 
while  he  was  going  to  control  the  revenue  of  an  ambassador,  to 
enjoy  the  independence  of  a  capitalist.  In  another  month  he 
would  be  an  important  figure  in  society.  All  the  luxuries  and 
satisfactions  a  man  can  wish  for  would  be  his,  together  with  a 
wife  who,  though  certainly  not  quite  the  incarnation  of  his 
youthful  dreams,  looked  well  at  times,  and  had  that  air  of 
unmistakable  good  breeding  which  he  admired.  That  morning 
at  the  office,  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  that  Dawson  had  arrived, 
he  rang  for  Tarte. 

'*  Tarte,  ask  Dawson  to  come  in  to  me." 

The  old  man  asked,  "Must  the  mountain  now  come  to 
Mohammed?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  Tarte." 

" Has  Mohammed  then  married  the  rich  widow?" 

"  No,  but  he's  going  to,  my  worthy  Tarte." 

"  Ah,"  the  old  man  said,  as  he  moved  away,  "  you're  one  of 
the  great  men  of  the  earth." 

Presently,  after  he  had  been  gone  a  few  minutes,  Dawson 
entered. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Dawson,"  Johns  said,  without  rising  or 
excusing  himself  for  asking  the  proprietor  to  come,  "I've  a 
little  piece  of  news  this  morning." 

"Indeed?"  said  Dawson,  rubbing  his  hands,  "something 
good  for  the  paper,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Johns  answered,  "  I'm  going  to 
be  married." 


i64  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  I  congratulate  you.    To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  Mrs.  Humphreys,  of  Grosvenor  Place. 

"  What !  not  the  widow  of  Stephen  Humphreys  ?" 

"  The  same."  And  he  looked  at  the  proprietor  to  study  the 
effect  the  news  had. 

"  Dawson  in  his  surprise  could  only  ejaculate — 

"  Well  you  are — you  are  a  lucky  man.  They  say  she's  worth 
three  hundred  thousand  pounds  !" 

"About  that,"  Johns  answered,  calmly. 

Dawson  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  piece  of  news,  but  I  hope  you  don't  intend 
to  leave  the  paper." 

**  Not  immediately,  perhaps,  but  I  shall  want  a  big  holiday 
to  get  married." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  of  course.     A  month,  or  even  two." 

"  Most  likely  three." 

"Three  then  it  shall  be,"  Dawson  answered  in  his  eagerness 
to  keep  so  powerful  a  man. 

"  And  now,"  said  Johns,  "  I'm  busy,"  upon  which  the 
proprietor  was  obliged  to  leave,  which  he  did  after  repeating 
his  congratulations. 

In  the  office  the  news  caused  a  great  stir,  and  Johns  was 
henceforth  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  superhuman  person  who 
could  achieve  anything  he  liked.  Even  the  jealousies  which 
his  rapid  rise  had  at  first  called  forth  disappeared  before  the 
magnitude  of  his  success.  Henceforth  he  was  a  man  who  could 
do  something  for  his  friends,  and  all  wished  to  obtain  his 
favour. 

Everything  went  well  until  the  night  of  the  dinner  party. 
When  Johns  arrived  at  Grosvenor  Place  that  evening,  half 
an  hour  before  the  time,  as  had  been  arranged,  he  found 
Mrs.  Humphreys  in  a  handsome  and  extremely  low-necked 
dress  waiting  for  him  in  the  little  boudoir  which  had  witnessed 
their  betrothal.  From  the  moment  he  stepped  in,  he  saw  from 
the  expression  of  her  face  that  something  was  amiss. 

"  Why  Rose,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  solemn 
face  to-night?" 

She  handed  him  a  telegram  and  said,  "  Read  that." 

He  read,  "  You're  going  to  marry  a  man  who  does  not  even 
respect  the  wife  of  his  own  master,  who  only  sees  in  you  a 
silly  old  woman  with  a  money  bag.  Be  warned  before  it  is 
too  late — One  of  his  many  victims." 

*'  Who  is  this  woman  ?  "  she  asked  rather  sharply,  as  soon  as 
he  bad  finished  reading. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  165 

Perfectly  unmoved,  he  answered,  "  An  adventuress  with 
whom  I  was  somewhat  intimate  before  I  became  engaged  to 
you,  but  whose  acquaintance  I  have  dropped.  The  telegram 
is  a  mere  piece  of  jealousy,  only  worthy  of  contempt." 

*'  But  is  what  she  says  true  about  the  wife  of of  the 

person,  I  suppose,  who  owns  the  paper  ?  " 

*'  It's  a  contemptible  lie,  as  Dawson  himself  would  tell  you. 
I  repeat,  she's  a  mere  adventuress,  and  this  is  not  the  first 
telegram  she's  sent  to  friends  of  mine." 

"  At  all  events,"  she  said,  "  it's  very  disagreeable." 
He  had  never  seen  her  so  annoyed,  and  he  thought  that  he 
must  make  amends. 

"  Rose,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  troubled  for  such  trifles. 
Since  I  have  been  engaged  to  you,  I  have  thought  of  no  one 
but  your  own  sweet  self.  I  have  banished  from  my  mind  all 
the  women  who  used  to  pester  me.  You  only.  Rose,  have 
shown  me  how  great  it  is  to  love  ! " 

"Still,"  she  said  a  little  softened,  "you've  been  a  reprobate." 
"  Oh,"  he  answered,  laughing,  "  my  wild  oats  are  all,  all  sown!" 
Then,  as  usual,  he  began  to  chant  the  song  of  love,  eternally 
the  same,  he  thought,  "  Rose,  my  little  Rose,  can't  you  see  that 
no  other  woman  can  exist  for  me?  Can't  you  see  that  my 
whole  thoughts,  my  whole  life  are  centred  in  you  ?  Do 
you  not  know  that  every  moment  of  the  day  wherever  I  may 
be,  your  face,  so  perfect  in  its  blonde  repose,  is  with 
me  ?  What  can  separate  us  now  ?  Are  we  not  destined 
for  each  other  by  all  the  laws  of  destiny  and  of  affinity? 
What  does  it  matter  now  what  envy  says  of  us?  Are  not 
happy  people  always  envied  ?  My  little  Rose,  there  will  be  no 
happier  pair  on  all  the  earth.  Ah,  if  I  could  express  all  I 
feel !  But  no,  there  are  no  words  for  it.  Give  me  a  kiss,  my 
Rose." 

And  then,  her  serenity  returning,  she  allowed  him  to  kiss 
her,  saying — 

"  Really,  John,  you're  a  great  flatterer !  A  great  flatterer !" 
Presently,  as  the  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive,  they  went 
up  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Johns  helped  his  affianced 
bride  to  welcome  the  party  she  had  gathered  round  her  to 
celebrate  the  third  incursion  into  the  married  state  she  was 
on  the  eve  of  making.  Amongst  them  were  the  Stanfields 
and  St.  George;  a  portly  dean — a  brother-in-law  of  Mrs. 
Humphreys,  with  his  thin  and  ugly  wife — a  middle-aged 
relative ;  a  judge  and  a  general,  both  accompanied  by  their 
wives;  and  others  whom  Johns  had  never  met  before.  As 
he  exchanged  a  few  words  with  each,  acknowledging  their 


i66  THE  ADVENTURES 

congratulations,  he  was  conscious  of  a  delicious  feeling  ol 
achievement.  It  gratified  him  greatly  to  feel  that  he  had 
definitely  forced  these  people  to  accept  him  as  their  equal, 
and  the  feeling  was  intensified,  when,  a  little  later,  he  descended 
the  sumptuous  staircase  with  Lady  Stanfield  on  his  arm. 
At  dinner  in  the  lofty  dining-room,  with  its  marble  pillars  and 
Pompeian  air,  its  paintings  by  old  masters,  its  luxuriously- 
appointed  table,  Johns  was  in  a  state  of  calm  exuberance, 
and  when  a  German  lady  with  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair, 
who  had  a  taste  for  social  questions,  started  the  subject  of 
"the  unfit,"  he  said,  "You  say  truly  there  is  an  infinite 
pathos  in  those  wasted  lives  one  meets  with  sometimes,  in 
those  half  intelligences  too  good  for  common  drudgery  and 
yet  not  good  enough  for  higher  things.  Think  of  the  anguish 
with  which  they  climb  and  climb,  sometimes  getting  near  the 
summit,  only  to  drop  back  again  into  the  pit  of  their  own 
incompetence;  think  of  the  hope  which  dances  before  them 
like  a  delusive  marsh  light,  of  the  chimera  which  yet  allures 
them,  because  they  prefer  to  be  eternally  deceived  rather  than 
give  up  the  chase !  And  remember  that  it  is  all  through  no 
fault  of  theirs,  but  through  an  accident  of  birth  !" 

"Yes,"  said  Princess  Roltzau ;  "and  it  is  for  them  that  I 
would  like  to  found  an  institution — an  institution  which 
would  be  a  sort  of  Providence  for  the  unfit." 

Johns  said,  "  The  idea  is  noble,  but  impossible.  There  is 
no  Providence  for  the  unfit.  They  are  as  inseparable  from 
their  illusions  as  a  drunkard  from  his  bottle !  No,  Princess, 
the  revolver  is  their  only  providence  /  " 

He  had  pronounced  these  words  with  calm  serenity,  and 
when  he  ceased  speaking,  his  hearers  for  a  moment  remained 
silent.  He  was  conscious  of  a  grateful  sense  of  triumph. 
Was  he  not  soon  to  be  master  of  this  palatial  house?  Had 
he  not  shown  conclusively  his  own  fitness  ? 

He  looked  at  his  affianced  bride  at  the  head  of  the  long 
table  as  if  to  offer  her  the  homage  of  the  impression  he  had 
made. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Stanfield,  who  was  seated  opposite,  "  unfor- 
tunately that  is  true.  Charity  is  powerless  against  ambitious 
incapacity." 

Seated  nearly  opposite  to  him,  next  to  his  friend  St.  George, 
was  a  girl  of  twenty,  with  a  beautiful  fresh  face  and  large 
thoughtful  eyes  fringed  with  long  silk-like  lashes,  whom  he 
had  noticed  when  she  came  in  with  her  father,  a  man  of 
military  bearing,  whom  Johns  knew  was  a  retired  colonel. 

During  the  time  that  Johns  had  been  speaking,  he  had 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  167 

noticed  that  her  gaze  had  been  fixed  upon  him.  In  her 
virginal  white  dress  she  looked,  he  thought,  particularly  lovely, 
and  for  a  moment,  in  spite  of  his  satisfaction,  he  felt  a  sudden 
pang  of  regret  such  as  he  had  experienced  that  afternoon  when 
passing  the  steps  of  the  National  Gallery.  Oh,  if  that  sweet 
young  face  had  been  his  lot ;  if  that  dainty  little  hand,  playing 
so  delicately  with  a  lily  which  had  fallen  from  the  vase  upon 
the  table  had  owned  the  thousands,  and  had  been  his  ^ancee, 
then  would  complete  happiness  have  been  attained !  And 
when  he  glanced  again  at  the  end  of  the  table,  at  the  mature 
charms  of  Mrs.  Humphreys,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
feeling  of  oppression,  of  a  foretaste  of  something  disagreeable 
with  which  he  was  henceforth  to  become  familiar. 

"  By  God,  he  mustn't  think  of  it,"  and  he  took  two  mouth- 
fuls  of  champagne  to  chase  away  the  skeleton  which  had 
arisen. 

Still  he  could  not  help  remarking  that  St.  George  was 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  his  neighbour,  and  he  wondered 
if  this  time  his  friend  had  found  the  ideal  of  his  dreams.  Ah, 
well,  St.  George  could  afford  ideals,  he  supposed.  Ife  couldn't, 
and  that  was  all  about  it,  and  as  he  looked  down  the  table  at 
the  brilliant  gathering  of  peers  and  heroes  and  law-givers, 
assembled  chiefly  in  his  honour,  he  could  not  help  admitting 
that  there  were  compensations  for  the  part  he  was  about  to 
play. 

When  the  ladies  had  retired  Johns  had  plenty  of  work  to  do 
to  enter  into  the  good  graces  of  his  future  relative  the  Dean, 
an  ecclesiastic  of  great  proportions,  and  with  the  other  relative, 
a  landowner  in  the  North.  They  couldn't  Uke  his  marriage, 
he  knew  that  well,  for  it  disappointed  expectations  which  they 
certainly  must  have  entertained.  No  doubt  they  had  antici- 
pated that,  after  having  lost  two  husbands,  the  widow  would 
not  try  again. 

To  the  Dean  he  talked  of  chapters  and  convocations,  giving 
him  to  understand  that  he  had  a  high  opinion  of  church 
charities,  and  that  he  looked  upon  the  Church  as  the  true 
distributor  of  alms,  while  to  the  other  relative  he  spoke,  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  of  agriculture.  He  succeeded  so  well, 
indeed,  that  by  the  time  they  left  to  join  the  ladies,  he  had 
won  approving  smiles  from  both  of  them. 

On  the  way  up  the  stairs  St.  George  whispered — 

"  I'll  bet  you  were  envying  me  at  dinner." 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  I've  nothing  now  to  envy  anyone." 

St.  George  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  they  reached  the  drawing 
room. 


i68  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  went  about  from  group  to  group,  basking  in  the 
women's  smiles  which  greeted  him.  Already  he  felt  that  he 
was  looked  upon,  no  longer  as  a  scribbler,  but  as  a  man  of 
means  and  station  whose  acquaintance  was  to  be  cultivated 
for  something  more  than  it  was  worth  in  little  tales  and 
epigrams.  Many  of  the  ladies  wanted  to  know  what  Mr.  Johns 
thought  of  this  and  what  he  thought  of  that,  what  were  his 
favourite  books,  and  if  he  considered  the  latest  play  of  Ibsen 
was  equal  to  his  former  ones,  and  they  even  went  so  far  as  to 
enquire  his  opinion  as  to  the  best  places  on  the  Continent  in 
which  to  spend  the  summer  months,  although  Johns  had  never 
been  to  one  of  them.  But  he  was  ready  with  an  answer  to 
all  they  asked,  and  he  spoke  with  calm  assurance,  well  knowing 
that  his  words  and  acts  had  now  a  golden  prestige.  Presently 
he  found  himself  next  to  the  young  girl  who  had  been  his 
vis-d-vis  at  table.     She  gave  him  an  engaging  smile. 

"I  don't  think  you  remember,"  she  said,  "that  we've  met 
once  before  at  Lady  Stanfield's." 

Johns  did  not  remember,  but  he  replied,  "  You  are  wrong, 
very  wrong,  to  think  that,  my  dear  Miss Miss " 

"  Douglas." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Douglas.  When  I  saw  you  opposite  to  me 
at  dinner  playing  so  daintily  with  that  lily,  I  recalled  your  face 
at  once.  I  take  no  credit  for  it.  Who  that  has  once  seen  you 
could  forget  ?  " 

"  You're  quite  equal  to  your  reputation,  Mr.  Johns." 

"  I  hope  I  am  much  better." 

And  he  was  about  to  begin,  "Ah,  if  you  only  knew," 
mechanically,  when  he  perceived  Mrs.  Humphreys  glancing 
at  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  room  with  an  uneasy  look, 
a  look  of  incipient  jealousy  perhaps. 

Prudence  bade  him  check  himself,  and  instead  of  bringing 
out  his  phrase,  he  merely  said,  "  and  I'll  come  round  presently 
to  prove  it." 

Then,  making  his  way  to  where  hisfiande  was  sitting,  he  took 
a  place  beside  her,  murmuring  with  deep  solicitude,  **  I  hope 
you're  not  feeling  tired.  Rose." 

With  a  look  of  tender  gratitude,  she  answered,  "  No,  John, 
thank  you." 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  remained  near  her,  attentive 
to  her  every  want,  assisting  her  to  entertain,  and  he  was  much 
amused  when  he  heard  a  lady  near  him  whisper  to  a  friend 
during  a  lull  in  the  conversation,  "How  devoted  to  her  he 
seems."  Yes,  he  was  devoted,  and  not  all  the  fair  Miss 
Douglas's  upon  the  earth  would  make  him  swerve  in  his 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  169 

allegiance  to  the  woman  who  was  going  to  endow  him.  His 
motto  for  the  present  was  "  Rose  Humphreys,"  shortly  to  be 
called  "Rose  Johns."  Rose  Johns!  It  didn't  sound  very 
well;  but  that  was  of  no  consequence. 

Before  the  party  separated,  Mrs.  Humphreys  whispered  to 
him — 

"  Go  and  speak  to  Lord  Stanfield  about  the  Magazine.  I've 
■mentioned  it  to  him  already." 

Lord  Stanfield  had  just  finished  talking  to  the  Dean,  and 
he  hailed  Johns  when  he  came  up  to  him  as  the  "  hero  of  the 
hour." 

"  Well,  what  news  has  the  hero  of  the  hour  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"None,  Lord  Stanfield.  The  hero  of  the  hour  is  rather 
sick  of  news." 

"  Of  news,  or  of  the  democratic  news  sheet  ?  " 

"  Of  both,  perhaps." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  Johns,  you  must  join  our  camp." 

"  That  is  far  from  being  an  impossibility.  I  am  convinced 
now  that  the  largest  quantity  of  intellect  is  on  your  side." 

Smiling,  Lord  Stanfield  said,  "I  thought  you  would  come 
round  to  our  views." 

"  But  that  is  not  all,"  continued  Johns ;  "  my  future  wife  does 
not  care  for  the  Planet,  and  she  would  like  me  to  have  more 
leisure  than  it  allows  me." 

"  And  you  would  like  to  edit  a  Review  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  more  congenial." 

"  Come  and  lunch  with  me  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  some- 
thing may  be  managed." 

"  With  pleasure  !  " 

And  then  as  Lord  Stanfield,  who  was  leaving,  held  out  his 
hand  to  say  good-night,  Johns  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  If  a  trustee 
were  required  for  our  marriage  settlement,  would  you  be  kind 
enough  to  act  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  willingly." 

When  the  party  broke  up  Johns  was  the  last  to  leave. 
Gradually  the  great  drawing-room  had  emptied  until  the  last 
black  coat  and  the  last  bare  shoulders  had  disappeared.  Then 
the  discreet  Uttle  Miss  Sinclair,  whose  engagement  as  com- 
panion was  nearly  over,  having  followed  the  retiring  guests, 
Johns  and  \i\%  fiancee  were  left  alone  in  the  great  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Humphreys  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  she  said,  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad 
they're  gone ;  come  and  let  me  look  at  you,  my  Johnnie."  And 
then,  seizing  his  hands,  she  scrutinized  him  narrowly  as  a  mother 
would  her  child,  while  he  looked  into  her  face  adoringly 


i7»  THE  ADVENTURES 

They  remained  in  this  posture  for  some  minutes  until  he, 
wishing  to  play  his  part  as  well  as  it  could  be  played,  drew  hei 
towards  him,  whispering  "  My  little  Rose,  I  have  never  seen  you 
look  so  queenly  as  you  did  to-night.  In  that  lovely  dress, 
showing  that  faultless  neck  and  those  matchless  arms,  you 
looked  a  perfect  Hebe." 

"Oh,  did  you  think  so,  John?"  she  asked,  crimson  with 
delight.  "  It  was  only  a  little  dinner  frock  of  mine."  Then 
continuing,  "And  you,  my  Johnnie,  how  well  you  spoke! 
How  proud  I  was  of  you  when  they  listened  to  you.  You 
are  so  clever!" 

"Ah,  Rose,  their  admiration  is  my  homage  to  your  own 
sweet  self ! " 

Presently,  after  he  had  kissed  her  with  all  the  warmth  he 
could  conjure  up,  she  queried,  "And  did  you  ask  Lord 
Stanfield.?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  see  him  about  the  Review  to-morrow  at 
his  club." 

"  That's  excellent." 

They  chatted  for  a  little  while  until  Mrs.  Humphreys  declared, 
with  a  laugh,  that  for  the  sake  of  her  reputation  he  must  leave. 
Then,  as  he  was  going,  she  said  tenderly,  "  It  won't  be  long 
now,  Johnnie ! " 

He  repeated,  with  an  earnest  glance,  "  It  won't  be  long  I " 

Another  kiss  and  he  departed. 

As  he  descended  the  broad  staircase  he  felt  himself  a  king ; 
he  felt  that  nothing  now  was  wanting  to  his  complete  felicity. 
The  little  cloud  which  the  telegram  had  raised  was  more  than 
dissipated,  and  the  horizon  was  serenely  clear.  The  servants 
in  the  hall,  knowing  that  he  was  soon  to  be  their  master,  showed 
him  to  the  door  with  infinite  respect,  and  as  his  hansom  was 
moving  off,  he  gave  a  look  at  the  lofty  mansion  with  its 
imposing  front,  murmuring  with  pride,  "  My  house." 

And,  as  the  day  fixed  for  the  marriage  was  approaching, 
Johns  increased  in  his  solicitude,  sending  his  fiancie  the 
choicest  flowers  he  could  find  at  Covent  Garden,  and  calling 
twice  a  day  to  see  her. 

One  thing,  however,  was  still  wanting  to  make  his  situation 
stable,  and  on  the  Monday  preceding  the  wedding  (which  was 
to  take  place  on  the  Saturday)  he  came  to  Grosvenor  Place  in 
the  afternoon.  He  had  a  little  business  which  he  wanted  to 
arrange,  and  he  came  as  early  as  his  work,  which  he  still  con- 
tinued during  the  negotiations  for  the  purchase  of  the  Review, 
permitted. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  171 

"  Rose,"  he  said,  "  there's  still  a  little  matter  which  we  have 
to  settle." 

"  What  is  it,  John  ?  "  she  asked,  indulgently,  leaning  back  in 
the  thickly-padded  sofa.     "  What  can  I  do  to  please  you  ?  " 

"You  can  do  this,  my  Rose.  You  can  come  with  me  into 
a  dingy  little  office  in  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  go  through  a  matter 
of  form  with  a  grumpy  old  solicitor." 

"With  a  solicitor?"  she  asked,  with  a  slight  movement  of 
alarm.     "What  for?" 

Johns  felt  a  presentiment  that  he  was  going  to  have  some 
trouble.  He  answered,  gravely,  "  You  see,  Rose,  a  man  is 
nothing  without  dignity,  and  you  would  not  wish  your  husband 
to  be  in  a  monetary  position  inferior  to  yourself.  My  theory  of 
married  life  is  that  all  property  should  be  held  in  common,  so 
that  the  married  couple  may  live  together  without  having  to 
discuss  vulgar  questions  of  self-interest.  It  gives  the  household, 
Rose,  a  better  tone;  it  is  more  fitting,  more  becoming.  My 
ideas  of  what  I  can  achieve  in  the  future  are  very  great,  and 
our  fortune  may  be  doubled.  Whatever  happens,  I  desire  that 
there  should  be  only  one  rule  by  which  all  money  questions 
may  be  settled.  As  we  have  implicit  trust  in  each  other,  there 
can  be  no  objection  to  our  signing  a  short  deed  which  will  settle 
things  for  the  remainder  of  our  lives." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  looking 
serious  and  thoughtful.  Presently  she  said,  "You  want  me  to 
divide  with  you.     But  I  have  relatives." 

He  answered,  "I  see,  Rose,  that  you  misunderstand  my 
meaning.  It  is  not  a  question  of  division,  but  of  apportion- 
ment. You,  of  course,  will  be  at  liberty,  to  make  whatever 
will  you  like,  and  I,  on  my  side,  will  be  free  to  do  the  same. 
There  will  be  nothing  changed,  only  our  relative  positions  will 
be  clear,  and  mine  will  be  more  dignified  than  if  there  were 
no  such  settlement.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  will  enjoy  the 
extra  revenue  which  I  will  bring.  Lord  Stanfield  has  consented 
to  be  trustee." 

He  continued  a  little  longer  in  this  strain  until  she,  wearied 
by  reasons  which  made  her  exert  herself  to  think,  and  favour- 
ably impressed  by  the  mention  of  Lord  Stanfield's  name,  ended 
by  saying — 

"  Oh,  John,  of  course,  what  you  say  will  be  all  right." 

Delighted  by  this  easy  victory,  he  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  Thanks,  Rose.  If  you'll  drive  to  Lincoln's  Inn  to-morrow, 
I'll  meet  you  there  at  four,  and  it  will  be  all  arranged." 

"Johnny,"  she  said,  plaintively,  "Say  you'll  be  always 
faithful  to  me!" 


1 7a  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Faithful,"  he  repeated,  "  faithful  until  death ! " 

"Stay  a  moment,"  she  said,  rising  and  going  to  the  othei 
end  of  the  room. 

From  a  Louis  XVI.  writing  table,  the  drawer  of  which  she 
unlocked  with  a  little  key  she  produced  from  her  pocket,  she 
took  a  slip  of  paper. 

"  This,"  she  said,  handing  it  to  Johns,  "  is  what  I  have.  I 
thought  it  might  perhaps  be  wanted." 

Johns  glanced  at  the  slip  of  paper  rapidly,  and  saw  that  it  was 
a  banker's  memorandum  stating  that  Mrs.  Stephen  Humphreys 
possessed  ;^is6,75o  in  Consols  and  ;^59,ooo  6s.  8d.  in 
India  Stock. 

Although  dazzled  at  the  simple  eloquence  of  such  figures, 
Johns  nevertheless  said,  carelessly — 

"  Thanks.  I'll  give  it  to  the  solicitor.  All  in  these  two  funds 
I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  all.     My  late  husband  left  it  so." 

Upon  this  Johns  quitted  her  in  an  exulting  frame  of  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  telegraphed  to  the  paper  that  he  could 
not  be  there  that  day,  and  at  ten  o'clock  he  drove  to  Lincoln's  Inn. 

The  solicitor  he  had  selected  for  the  work  was  a  man  who 
had  a  special  reputation.  His  office  on  the  first  floor  of  a 
sombre  building  had  been  the  birthplace  of  untold  actions 
for  divorce  and  slander  and  disputed  wills.  Everybody  knew 
that  he  stretched  the  law  to  its  utmost  limits,  and  he  was  one 
of  the  busiest  of  London  lawyers.  He  was  considered  to  be 
certainly  upon  the  road  to  knighthood. 

Johns  ascended  the  flight  of  stairs  worn  by  the  feet  of 
litigants,  and  entered  the  outer  office.  He  wanted  to  see 
Mr.  Drew  at  once,  he  told  the  clerk — "  at  once." 

"  But  he's  very  busy,  sir,"  the  clerk  replied,  "  and  there  are 
some  people  already  waiting." 

"Tell  him  that  I'm  here,  and  that  I  must  see  him.  Say 
it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

The  clerk  retired,  and  presently  returned,  requesting  Johns 
to  follow  him.  Drew  was  in  an  inner  room,  divided  from  the 
outer  by  a  green  baize-covered  door. 

He  was  a  short  thin  man  of  about  fifty,  with  a  face  expressive 
of  great  keenness  and  penetration. 

"  Did  you  imagine  I  was  a  doctor  ?  "  he  asked,  "  to  send  such 
a  message." 

•*  No,"  said  Johns,  "  I  wanted  to  convey  a  notion  of  the 
urgency  of  the  case  and  knew  no  other  way." 

"  Well,  the  deed  is  ready  with  the  exception  of  the  amounts. 
Here  it  is." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  173 

Drew  produced  a  document  which  Johns  scanned  rapidly 
and  eagerly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that's  pretty  well.  That  gives  me  half  the 
property ;  but  don't  you  think,  with  a  little  more  of  your  legal 
phraseology,  we  might  go  one  better  ?  " 

•'  I'm  open  to  a  suggestion." 

"  Well,  why  could  you  not  make  it  out  in  such  a  way  that  in 
case  of  the  death  of  one  of  us,  the  whole  fortune  would  go  to 
the  survivor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  might  be  done.     But  would  the  lady  sign  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  she'll  sign  anything.  You've  only  got  to  read  it 
out  in  one  of  those  legal  monotones,  and  cram  it  with  law 
phrases,  and  she'll  sign  it  fast  enough.  The  fee  I  intend  to 
give,  Mr.  Drew,  is  a  hundred  guineas." 

"Very  well.  But  a  new  trust  deed  will  have  to  be  prepared. 
When  do  you  want  to  sign  ?  " 

*'  This  very  afternoon  at  four.  Here  is  a  list  of  the  amounts. 
Only  two,  you  see.     It's  beautifully  simple." 

Drew  took  the  slip,  while  saying,  "  But,  my  dear  sir,  there 
isn't  time  for  it  to  be  engrossed." 

"  It  must  be  done,"  said  Johns.  "  The  clerk  who  does  it 
shall  be  rewarded." 

"  Well,  of  course  we'll  try." 

"  And  you'll  succeed,  I  know,  for  you're  a  man  of  genius. 
I  shall  be  back  at  four." 

Saying  this,  he  left  precipitately. 

At  four  o'clock,  after  having  spent  the  intervening  hours  in 
the  Strand,  he  returned  to  Lincoln's  Inn. 

After  waiting  a  few  moments  outside  the  office,  he  perceived 
Mrs.  Humphreys'  carriage  with  its  pair  of  bays  and  its  men  in 
daric  green  livery. 

In  spite  of  his  assurance  to  the  solicitor  that  all  would  go 
well,  he  was  not  without  misgivings.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
vague  fear  that  all  might  still  be  spoiled  by  a  mishap. 

He  was  delighted,  therefore,  when  Mrs.  Humphreys  in  a  dainty 
mantle  and  a  bonnet  surcharged  with  flowers,  alighted  gaily, 
giving  him  a  sweet  smile  as  she  stepped  upon  the  pavement. 

"  That's  the  prettiest  bonnet  that  was  surely  ever  seen,"  he 
said. 

She  whispered,  "  I  chose  it,  John,  because  I  knew  you  were 
fond  of  violets." 

As  they  ascended  the  creaking  stairs,  he  took  her  arm  and 
pressed  it  tenderly,  murmuring,  "  How  much  I  love  you  !  How 
infinitely  happy  you  have  made  me !  Only  a  few  days  more, 
my  Rose  1    Only  a  few  more  days !" 


X74  THS  ADVENTURES 

They  reached  the  office. 

The  clerk  who  had  seen  Johns  in  the  morning  advanced 
towards  them,  saying,  '*  The  deed  is  being  finished  now,  sir. 
If  you  will  kindly  wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Drew  will  soon  attend 
to  you." 

They  followed  the  clerk  to  a  little  waiting-room,  in  which 
they  were  left  alone. 

Johns  sat  beside  his  future  wife  and  took  her  hand. 

•'  Rose,"  he  said,  "  last  night  I  had  a  frightful  dream.  I 
dreamt  that  I  had  fallen  in  the  street,  and  that  one  of  those 
gigantic  waggons  had  passed  over  me.  The  horse's  hoofs  had 
struck  me;  I  was  dying.  As  my  breath  was  leaving  me,  I 
murmured — what  else  could  I  murmur  ? — I  murmured.  Rose ! 
Then  when  I  awoke  and  found  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  dream, 
that  I  was  going  to  behold  you,  once  again,  this  very  day,  I 
veritably  cried  with  joy ! " 

"  Poor  Johnnie,"  she  said  tenderly,  gazing  into  his  face  with 
the  eager  look  of  mature  passion,  "poor  Johnnie !" 

And  he  continued  to  chant  the  hymn  of  praise  of  which  he 
knew  she  never  tired.  He  was  not  fearful,  now  that  he  had 
guaged  her  character,  lest  he  might  go  too  far.  He  was  quite 
certain  that  a  woman  so  much  in  love,  a  woman,  above  all,  who 
was  so  thoroughly  an  Eve,  could  not  weary  of  the  balm  of 
flattery  even  if  her  inner  conscience  told  her  that  it  wasn't 
genuine. 

When  they  had  been  there  half  an  hour,  no  one  had  come 
to  summon  them.  Johns  continued  talking,  to  prevent  Mrs. 
Humphreys  from  thinking  of  the  object  of  their  visit;  but  he 
was  secretly  anathematising  Drew  for  keeping  him  so  long  there 
in  suspense — in  suspense  which  was  telling  on  his  nerves. 
Unable  any  longer  to  remain  still,  he  now  walked  round  the 
room  and  examined  the  old  French  clock  upon  the  mantel- 
piece, asking  her  if  she  admired  it.  Then  he  called  her  to  see 
the  sparrows  which  were  flying  to  and  fro  from  the  window 
ledge  to  the  roofs  of  the  adjoining  houses.  "Poor  little 
London  sparrows  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  See,  Rose,  how  black 
they  arel"  She  went  up  to  the  window  and  looked  at  the 
sparrows  and  remarked,  "  poor  things,"  and  then  they  turned 
over  the  pages  of  an  illustrated  paper  which  was  on  the  table. 
At  length,  after  another  quarter  of  an  hour  had  been  spent 
thus,  the  door  was  opened  and  the  clerk  entered  to  ask  them 
to  step  in  to  Mr.  Drew. 

Crossing  through  the  outer  office,  they  were  soon  in  the 
solicitor's  private  room.     Johns  introduced  his  Jiancie. 

"  I'm  truly  sorry,"  Drew  began,  "  to  have  kept  you  waiting 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  175 

so  very  long,  but  the  fact  is,  I  was  not  quite  ready  for  you 
when  you  arrived." 

"Oh,"  said  Johns,  "we  have  been  amusing  ourselves  by 
looking  at  the  sparrows." 

They  took  seats  in  two  high-backed  chairs  which  were  placed 
in  front  of  the  solicitor's  table,  and  Drew  continued — 

"  It's  a  pleasure  for  me  to  arrange  these  little  matters, 
especially  under  such  pleasant  circumstances  as  the  present. 
I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  were  a  kind  of  parson,  since  it  is  my 
duty  to  marry  the  worldly  interests  of  happy  couples.  Some- 
times where  there  are  differences  of  opinion  between  what  we 
call  'the  parties,'  my  task  is  by  no  means  light;  but  in  the 
present  case  it's  very  evident  that  we  have  perfect  unity  of 
views.  By  this  deed,  Mrs.  Humphreys,  you  are  placed  on  a 
footing  of  equality  with  your  husband  before  the  law,  and  you 
are  relieved,  for  good,  from  troubling  about  your  affairs.  It  is  a 
deed  of  which  I  personally  thoroughly  approve,  because  it 
creates  an  honourable  understanding  between  you,  and  puts  an 
end  to  all  uncertainty  as  to  respective  rights,  if  ever  (though  I 
do  not  think  it  possible)  you  were  to  have  the  smallest  need  to 
think  of  them." 

Johns  thought,  "He's  on  the  right  tack,"  and  remained 
silent. 

Mrs.  Humphreys  was  smiling  pleasantly. 

"  I'm  afraid  what's  written  on  this  piece  of  parchment  isn't 
exactly  interesting  literature,  and  if  I  could  dispense  with 
reading  it  to  you,  I  would.  But  the  law  compels  and  I  must 
obey.  I  will  try,  however,  not  to  spend  more  time  over  it 
than  is  absolutely  necessary  since,  as  I  said  just  now,  there 
is  in  this  case  perfect  harmony." 

This  remark  was  again  received  in  silence,  and  presently 
Drew  began  to  read,  in  a  dry,  professional  tone  of  voice,  a  deed 
of  settlement  which,  with  a  wealth  of  legal  terms,  gave  Johns 
half  the  fortune  under  the  trusteeship  of  Lord  Stanfield,  and 
the  whole  of  it  if  his  wife  should  die  before  him. 

When,  towards  the  end.  Drew  reached  the  portion  in  which 
the  "  demise "  of  one  of  the  two  parties  was  alluded  to,  Mrs. 
Humphreys  looked  up  enquiringly,  and  Johns  felt  his  pulse 
beat  faster.  But  neither  made  a  remark  until  Drew  had 
finished  reading. 

Then  Mrs.  Humphreys  said,  somewhat  timidly,  "  I'm  afraid 
I  don't  very  well  understand  these  things.  I  always  show 
them  to  my  old  family  solicitor.  Would  there  be  any 
objection  to  my  doing  so  with  this?" 

Drew  tossed  the  deed  upon  the  table,  and  said,  with  an 


X76  THE  ADVENTURES 

unmistakable  air  of  offended  dignity,  "My  dear  madam,  yon 
have  a  perfect  right  to  show  it  to  whom  you  please ;  but  I  was 
under  the  impression  that  you  came  here  to  sign." 

Mrs.  Humphreys  had  become  very  red,  and  in  her  em- 
barrassment looked  at  Johns  as  if  she  hoped  that  he  might 
come  to  her  assistance,  but  he,  although  in  an  agony  of 
suspense,  seeing  that  she  had  understood  the  sense  of  the 
last  clauses,  remained  impassive. 

For  some  moments  there  was  a  silence,  and  at  length  Mrs. 
Humphreys  said,  "Don't  you  think,  John,  that  there's  some- 
thing at  the  end  which  is  not  quite  right  ?  " 

She  spoke  slowly,  and  was  evidently  exceedingly  embar- 
rassed. 

He  replied,  "  My  dear  Rose,  I  really  know  nothing  about  it. 
I  believe  Mr.  Drew  has  drawn  up  this  deed  in  strict  conformity 
with  equity  and  custom.  Of  course,  if  you  do  not  approve  of 
it,  that's  another  matter." 

Torturing  her  gloves  which  she  had  taken  off,  Mrs. 
Humphreys  said,  "It's  very  awkward";  and  Johns  thought, 
"  She's  terribly  perplexed." 

He  added  presently,  "  I  don't  want  to  influence  you.  Rose, 
in  any  way ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  now  the  deed  has  been 
prepared,  and  everything  is  arranged  with  Lord  Stanfield,  it 
would  look  somewhat  odd  if  we  were  to  change  it — at  least  at 
present.  Of  course,  you  know  we  can  make  other  deeds 
subsequently,  and,  as  for  your  relatives,  I'll  take  care  that 
they're  provided  for — especially  the  poor  ones.  You  won't 
find  me  wanting  in  good-heartedness." 

She  hesitated,  looking  alternately  at  Johns  and  at  the 
solicitor,  who,  seizing  the  moment,  bent  forward,  and  said, 
insinuatingly — 

"  Then,  do  I  understand  you  wish  to  sign  ?  " 

The  unfortunate  woman,  whose  feelings  were  being  acted  on 
by  so  many  conflicting  causes,  stammered — 

"  Well — yes — I  suppose  it  will  be  all  right." 

Drew  pressed  a  nob  upon  his  table,  and,  almost  immediately, 
two  clerks  appeared. 

"  Just  witness  the  signatures,"  he  said  to  them,  "  of  Mrs. 
Humphreys  and  Mr.  Johns." 

Then,  handing  a  pen  to  the  widow,  he  said,  confidentially, 
"  I  really  think  you're  wise." 

She  took  the  pen  and  wrote  in  the  place  marked  in  pencil, 
"  Rosalind  Humphreys,"  and  the  two  clerks  witnessed. 

Johns,  in  the  space  assigned  to  him,  wrote  "  John  Johns," 
and  again  the  clerks  attested. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  177 

"There,"  said  Drew,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  as  the 
scribes  retired  ;  '*  there's  a  tiresome  formality  over,  and  it  only 
remains  for  me  to  wish  you  an  extremely  long  and  happy 
married  life.  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  now,  for  I've  still 
many  clients  waiting." 

So  saying,  he  showed  them  politely  to  the  door. 

As  they  were  going  down  the  stairs,  it  was  she  now  who 
clasped  his  arm. 

"  Promise  me,  John,  that  you'll  be  a  good  husband." 

"  Rose,  can  you  for  a  moment  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  No,  John,  I  can't." 

He  saw  her  into  her  carriage,  and,  after  promising  to  come  to 
Grosvenor  Place  for  dinner,  he  stood  on  the  pavement  for  a 
moment,  watching  the  retreating  trap  and  murmuring,  "  Is  it 
possible,  at  that  age,  to  be  so  amorous  ?" 

The  woman  who  had  driven  off  with  her  bonnet  full  of 
violets  had  made  his  fortune.  Henceforth  he  was  sure  of 
living  all  his  hfe  in  ease !  Not  only,  by  the  arrangement,  had 
he  in  reality  conceded  nothing  of  his  own,  but  after  her  death, 
which,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  must  take  place  before 
his,  he  was  to  inherit  the  remaining  half  of  her  hundred 
thousand.     Oh,  what  a  lucky  day  !  oh,  what  a  glorious  day ! 

Whistling  a  tune,  he  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  drove  to 
Berkeley  Square  to  tell  Lord  Stanfield  what  had  been  arranged. 


CHAPTER 
TWELFTH 

ON  the  morning  of  the  wedding,  Johns  awoke  with  a  feeling 
of  intense  felicity.  As  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  a  ray  of 
sunshine  was  streaming  through  the  window,  and  he  hailed  it 
as  a  happy  omen.  Men  and  nature  smiled  upon  him  now. 
His  path  was  henceforth  to  be  strewn  with  roses.  He  spent  a 
long  time  dressing,  longer  than  he  had  ever  spent  before,  for 
his  person,  he  considered,  had  acquired  worth,  and  called  for 
much  solicitude.  He  had  become  a  personage  whose  life  was 
of  some  value  in  the  world.  If  he  were  ill,  he  could  rest  and 
be  tended  like  a  prince ;  even  if  he  died,  he  would  be  buried 
with  great  pomp.  In  short,  he  counted  for  something ;  he  was 
somebody.  When  he  had  finished  dressing,  he  surveyed  him- 
self in  the  long  glass  of  the  wardrobe  in  his  bedroom,  and  felt 
satisfied.  The  lilac  trousers  of  faultless  cut  were  without  a 
crease,  and  fell  gracefully  upon  a  pair  of  patent  boots,  the 
heels  of  which  he  had  had  made  higher  to  increase  his  stature. 
The  frock  coat  was  not  less  perfect  than  the  trousers,  and  the 
white  silk  tie,  attached  with  a  pearl  pin,  gave  a  delicate  finish 
to  the  general  appearance.  Yes,  he  was  satisfied ;  quite 
satisfied.  From  his  bedroom  he  passed  into  the  parlour,  and 
sat  down  at  his  desk  to  write. 

"  My  dear  parents,"  he  began,  "  When  I  wrote  you  last  I 
told  you  that  I  was  boss  of  a  newspaper,  and  that  things  were 
going  well.  To-day  I've  gone  one  better.  In  an  hour  I'm  to 
be  married  to  a  widow  with  lots  of  money  and  a  big  house  to 
live  in.  She's  a  little  older  than  I  am,  but  that  doesn't  matter 
much.  What  I  wanted  was  to  be  set  up  in  life.  My  wife, 
whose  name  is  Rose,  is  a  fine  woman  with  light  hair  and  a 
pretty  figure.  She's  a  swell,  too,  by  birth.  So  you  see  I've 
done  well  for  myself,  ap4  I  don't  think  you'll  regret  the  money 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  179 

now  for  my  education.  In  another  week  I'll  send  you  a  cheque 
to  pay  it  back.  In  the  meantime  here  is  a  note  for  ;^5o. 
Rose  sends  you  her  love,  and  we  both  hope  that  you'll  leave 
the  old  house  and  take  a  better  one  upon  the  hill,  over  by 
Grosmont,  where  we  used  to  mend  the  nets  in  the  old  times 
before  I  went  to  school.  Just  say  how  much  you  want,  and  it 
shall  be  sent.  Good-bye,  my  dear  parents,  I'll  try  to  come  and 
see  you  some  day.  Tell  cousin  Kate  to  let  me  know  when  she 
gets  married,  as  I  want  to  make  her  a  little  present.  My 
address  after  this  will  be  60  Grosvenor  Place.  Your  aflfectionate 
son,  John  Johns." 

He  had  scarcely  sealed  this  letter  when  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  St.  George,  irreproachably  dressed  in  a  frock  coat, 
with  a  large  gardenia  in  his  button-hole,  came  in. 

"  Well,  happy  bridegroom,"  he  said,  taking  a  seat  at  the 
table  on  which  the  cloth  was  laid,  "  is  breakfast  ready  ?  I'm 
very  hungry." 

Johns  rang  the  bell. 

"  It  shall  be  brought  at  once.  It's  very  good  of  you  to 
come  so  early." 

St.  George  replied,  "  It's  part  of  a  best  man's  duty  to  be 
early."    Then,  scrutinizing  Johns,  he  added — 

"  Why,  Johns,  you  look  superb— as  well  as  an  heir  apparent !" 

"That's  what  I  am"  Johns  answered,  with  a  grin,  and  St. 
George  gave  a  discreet  smile  to  show  that  he  understood. 

"Who  ever  would  have  thought  that  you  would  have 
married  Mrs.  Humphreys  ?  I  couldn't  have  done  it  myself,  old 
chap." 

"  Why  ?  "  Johns  asked,  indulgently.  "  Is  she  not  a  remark- 
ably fine  woman  ?  " 

*'  She  was  one  once." 

••  Oh,  she's  all  right  still,  and  surely  it's  no  duty  of  a  best  man 
to  criticise  the  bride." 

"  Pardon  me,"  St.  George  said,  laughing,  "  I'll  say  no  more 
about  it.  In  one  way,  too,  I  envy  you;  we  all  envy  you. 
You're  going  to  be  such  a  big  capitalist." 

Johns  answered,  carelessly,  "Yes,  St.  George,  there's 
nothing  disagreeable  about  Ma/." 

The  breakfast  arrived,  and  they  chatted  gaily  over  it. 

St.  George  said  presently,  "I  should  think  Miss  Douglas 
will  look  pretty  as  a  bridesmaid." 

Johns  gave  his  friend  a  sidelong  glance. 

"  Exquisite.     Do  you  mean  to  marry  her,  St.  George  ?  " 

The  directness  of  the  question  took  the  young  man  by 
surprise. 


x8o  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  I  would  to-morrow,  if  she  would  consent." 

No  more  was  said  upon  the  subject,  and  they  finished 
breakfast. 

Then,  as  Edwards  had  announced  that  the  carriage  was  at 
the  door,  they  left  together,  after  Johns  had  placed  a  white 
camelia  in  his  button-hole.  A  short  drive  brought  them  to  St. 
Margaret's  at  Westminster,  in  which  the  wedding  was  to  take 
place. 

On  the  journey  Johns  was  taciturn,  replying  to  his  friend  by 
nods  and  monosyllables,  for  suddenly  he  had  been  troubled  by 
the  feeling  of  regret  which  had  once  or  twice  before  come  over 
him.  As  he  looked  out  of  the  carriage  window  at  the  busy 
streets,  full  of  life  and  vigour  on  the  summer's  morning,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  thinking  how  delightful  it  would  have 
been  if  youth  and  beauty,  as  they  were  embodied  in  Miss 
Douglas,  had  been  about  to  meet  him  at  the  church.  But, 
alas !  youth  and  beauty  were  seldom  to  be  found  in  company 
with  consols,  and  he  might  have  spent  his  own  youth  seeking 
them !  After  all,  he  believed  in  fate,  in  the  absolute  necessity 
for  accepting  the  good  things  which  were  offered  in  the  shuffle 
of  existence,  without  pausing  to  reflect  whether  they  were  pre- 
cisely those  one  would  have  chosen.     And  yet ! 

Outside  the  grey  gothic  building  nestling  so  curiously  in  the 
shadow  of  the  high  black  Abbey,  a  crowd  of  the  strange  nonde- 
scripts who  linger  in  church  porches  to  witness  the  entry  or  the 
egress  of  a  bride  had  gathered  on  either  side  of  the  red  carpet 
which  stretched  from  the  outer  railings  to  the  door.  Carriages 
were  driving  up  in  quick  succession.  As  Johns  stepped  out 
of  the  brougham  a  dirty  youth  exclaimed,  "'Ooray  for  the 
Planet/"  and  Johns  acknowledged  the  greeting  with  a  smile. 

The  church,  as  St.  George  and  he  walked  up  the  aisle,  was 
nearly  full.  A  brilliant  throng,  drawn  from  the  upper  strata  of 
society,  had  assembled  to  witness  the  marriage  of  the  famous 
Mrs.  Humphreys  with  the  none  less  famous  Mr.  Johns.  On 
all  sides  there  were  whispers  as  the  two  friends  advanced,  and 
Johns,  conscious  that  all  eyes  were  upon  him,  assumed  his  most 
dignified  demeanour. 

It  was  almost  the  first  time  he  had  entered  a  church  of  the 
Church  of  England.  In  his  boyhood  he  had  attended  chapel 
with  his  parents,  and  sometimes  in  Australia  while  he  had  been 
a  schoolmaster,  but  this  was  the  first  time  he  had  taken  part 
in  any  service  of  the  Anglican  community.  The  place,  with  its 
fluted  columns,  its  gothic  arches,  and  its  stained-glass  windows, 
had  a  certain  stately  harmony  he  liked. 

When  they  reached  the  railings  which  divided  the  clergy 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  i8i 

from  the  laity,  and  on  the  steps  of  which  were  placed  four  red 
cushions,  St  George  stopped  and  whispered — 
*'  We  must  wait  here  for  the  lady." 

Johns  made  use  of  the  opportunity  to  look  around.  The 
church  was  already  full.  He  saw  before  him  a  sea  of  women's 
faces,  amid  a  wealth  of  colour,  softened  by  the  light  which 
streamed  through  the  high  church  windows  revealing  the  black 
patches  made  by  the  sombre  costume  of  the  men. 

Turning  round  again,  he  examined  the  choir  full  of  boys  in 
white,  and  he  was  looking  at  the  organ  when  he  suddenly  per- 
ceived the  portly  Dean — Mrs.  Humphreys'  relative,  who  was  to 
perform  the  service — standing  at  the  extreme  end,  with  his 
hands  crossed,  and  motionless,  in  a  devout  attitude. 

"  That's  the  old  chap  who's  going  to  join  us,"  thought  Johns. 
'«  Mustn't  he  detest  me  ! " 

He  wondered  if  the  Dean  was  going  to  give  them  much  divinity 
to  listen  to.  What  a  funny  joke  it  was  that  that  rotund  old  person 
should  imagine  that  the  road  to  righteousness  lay  through  him, 
and  that  he  was  charged  to  unite  him  to  Mrs.  Humphreys. 
Charged  by  whom  ?  Did  anybody  know  ?  Could  anybody 
say  ?  except  by  pronouncing  a  name  in  three  letters  which  had 
never  conveyed  anything  definite  to  his  mind.  What  a  farce  it 
all  was  after  all,  and  what  a  set  of  simpletons  the  people  were 
who  could  be  impressed  by  that  old  fellow,  in  his  white  gown, 
with  his  well-fed  frame  and  his  seasoned  nose  !  No  matter, 
that  dean  was  going  to  be  useful. 

Tired  of  looking  at  the  Dean,  he  turned  round  again  towards 
the  people.  In  one  of  the  front  pews  he  recognised  Dawson,  who 
was  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  of  conscious  approbation, 
as  if  to  let  the  congregation  know  that  he,  and  he  alone,  was  the 
discoverer,  the  inventor  of  the  bridegroom.  Johns  thought, 
"  He's  come  alone;  Lucy  couldn't  face  it.  Poor  little  Lucy !  She 
wasn't  so  bad  after  all."  A  few  rows  lower  down  was  seated 
Maskelyne,  with  his  hair  cut  short  as  he  had  worn  it  since  he 
had  been  promoted,  and  smiling  sympathetically.  Next  to  him 
old  Tarte  was  looking  on  with  a  saint-like  look  of  aloofness 
from  the  considerations  of  this  world.  "  Poor  devils,"  thought 
Johns,  "  ready  to  serve  their  master  with  the  fidelity  of  slaves 
for  the  wages  of  mechanics." 
Suddenly,  however,  his  nerves  underwent  a  little  shock. 
Seated  in  the  front  row  within  a  few  yards  of  him  and 
watching  him  with  a  fixed  stare,  was  Mrs.  Weber.  Instinctively 
he  turned  away,  for  there  was  something  in  the  look  she  gave 
him  which  made  him  feel  uncomfortable.  He  remained  for  a 
moment  glancing  down  the  aisle ;  then  summoning  his  courage, 


x83  THE  ADVENTURES 

he  faced  her  and  twldly  returned  her  stare.  But  now,  after 
a  defiant  gesture  and  a  faint  smile,  she  turned  her  head 
away, 

Johns  was  thinking,  "  What  pluck  the  woman  has  to  put 
herself  in  the  front  row,"  when  he  caught  sight  of  Lord  Stanfield 
and  his  wife  seated  in  the  next  pew  with  a  whole  bevy  of 
acquaintances  behind  them.  He  bowed  to  the  Stanfields 
deferentially,  and  he  was  about  to  turn  a  second  time  when  St. 
George  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  She's  coming." 

Suddenly,  in  the  lofty  building  there  was  a  complete  silence, 
and  presently  a  noise  of  footsteps  proceeding  from  the  entrance. 
Then  for  a  moment  there  was  a  lull,  followed  by  a  continuous 
rustle,  as  the  bride,  in  a  simple  costume  of  light  grey  silk,  came 
into  view. 

Leaning  on  the  Judge's  arm  and  looking  down,  the  widow 
advanced  slowly  up  the  aisle  followed  by  her  bridesmaids — two 
winsome  girls  in  pink,  one  of  whom  was  Edith  Douglas,  the 
other  a  niece  of  Lady  Stanfield. 

**  How  innocent  she  looks ! "  Johns  thought,  although  he 
was  beginning  to  feel,  in  spite  of  himself,  the  impressiveness 
of  the  marriage  scene. 

Soon  the  bridal  party  reached  the  place  where  the  two  friends 
stood.  Johns,  who  had  been  instructed  as  to  what  he  had  to 
do,  after  bowing  to  the  smiling  Mrs.  Humphreys,  turned  and 
knelt  beside  her  on  the  velvet  cushion  placed  upon  the  step. 
St.  George  knelt  on  the  right  of  Johns,  and  the  Judge  on  the 
left  of  the  bride. 

The  Dean,  in  the  meantime,  had  reached  the  place  where 
they  were  kneeling,  and  stood  before  them  like  a  monument 
of  sanction.  Almost  immediately,  in  a  tedious  drawl,  he  began 
to  read  aloud  from  a  prayer-book  which  he  held  before  him 
with  both  hands. 

They  were  made  acquainted  in  old  English  with  the  origin 
of  marriage,  its  gravity,  its  mystical  signification,  the  concession 
which  was  made  by  it  to  human  frailty,  the  various  reasons  why 
it  was  ordained,  and  the  respective  parts  devolving  on  the 
husband  and  the  wife  in  the  married  state. 

While  the  Dean  was  rolling  out  his  periods,  Johns  amused 
himself  by  counting  the  buttons  on  his  boots  and  the  folds  of 
his  ample  surplice,  wondering  how  much  of  the  conjugal 
doctrines  he  was  giving  forth  the  old  man  himself  believed,  but 
experiencing,  at  the  same  time,  a  vaguely  soothing  feeling,  a 
sensation  of  a  spiritual  douche.  The  reading  over,  the  Dean 
turned  his  back  to  the  bride  and  bridegroom  and  walked  up  to 
the  table  in  the  apse  with  dignity. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  183 

St.  George  whispered,  *'  You  must  follow,"  and  Johns,  with 
his  bride  and  her  relatives,  advanced. 

They  were  joined  together  by  the  Dean.  Then,  after  the 
marriage  questions  had  been  asked  and  answered,  after  the 
Judge  had  made  a  gift  to  Johns  of  the  person  of  the  widow, 
after  Johns  had  placed  the  ring  on  the  finger  of  his  bride,  a 
short  allocution  followed. 

Johns  was  to  remember  that  marriage  was  a  very  sacred 
thing ;  that  the  duties  of  the  husband  were  to  protect  the  wife 
from  the  sorrows  of  existence,  and  to  use  the  authority  which 
was  given  him,  with  wise  and  tender  moderation.  Above  all 
things  he  was  to  be  unselfish  and  considerate,  he  was  to  avoid 
false  pride  in  the  commerce  of  domestic  life,  to  pardon  readily, 
to  chide  with  kindness,  and  to  be  always  faithful  and  sincere. 
Nothing  militated  more  against  the  life  of  the  family,  as  it  was 
divinely  constituted,  than  distrust.  Perfect  confidence  must 
reign  between  man  and  wife  so  that  conjugal  ethics  should  be 
as  pure  and  calm  as  a  cloudless  sky.  These  were  the  bases  of 
the  Christian  family,  wisely  designed  for  the  welfare  of  the 
human  race.  "  You,  Rosalind,"  he  said  to  the  bride,  "  I  would 
exhort  to  prudence  and  to  patience  in  the  new  life  you  are  now 
entering.  It  will  be  your  duty  henceforth  to  be  the  solace  and 
support  of  a  husband  whom  you  have  promised  to  obey.  In 
the  hour  of  affliction,  should  it  ever  come  to  him,  you  will  be 
his  truest  friend,  and  you  will  seek  counsel  of  him  in  uncertainty 
and  doubt.  Blessed  as  you  are  with  this  world's  wealth, 
it  behoves  you,  more  than  many  others,  to  be  wise  in  the 
conduct  of  your  daily  life,  and  to  remember  that  charity  was 
ever  the  first  of  virtues.  Banish  from  your  heart  all  pride. 
Be  just  and  faithful  always.  Let  your  union  be  a  model  of 
right  living.  Remember,  my  daughter,  that  life  has  but  a 
transitory  span,  and  that  the  time  afforded  us  in  which  to  do 
good  works  is  brief" 

He  continued  a  little  longer  in  this  strain,  and  after  he  had 
ended  his  address  the  bridal  party  remained  for  some  moments 
on  their  knees. 

Then,  as  the  first  notes  of  the  organ  resounded  in  the  vaulted 
church,  ascending  in  a  wave  of  triumphal  sound,  Johns  and  his 
wife  rose,  and  moved  slowly  arm-in-arm  towards  the  vestry, 
followed  by  the  Judge,  St.  George,  and  the  two  bridesmaids. 

But  at  that  moment,  as  the  nuptial  march  re-echoed  in  his 
ears,  as  he  saw  the  sea  of  heads  outstretched  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  them,  his  feelings  underwent  a  change.  Suddenly  he  felt 
that  all  this  was  admirable,  that  the  Dean  himself  was  the  best 
of  deans,  the  Church  ^e  best  of  churches,  since  in  the  brief 


i84  THE  ADVENTURES 

space  of  half  an  hour  they  had  made  his  fortune.  It  was  well 
after  all  that  there  should  be  fat  old  deans  to  admonish  people 
on  their  marriage  day ;  it  gave  a  peculiar  kind  of  stamp  to 
matrimony.  It  was  all  very  right  and  proper,  and  the  rich  full 
strains  which  were  coming  from  the  organ  seemed  to  him  the 
most  delightful  he  had  ever  heard.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
moment  he  was  barely  conscious  that  his  wife  was  leaning  on 
his  arm.  He  was  moving  along  in  a  state  of  high  sublimity, 
with  a  delicious  consciousness  of  power,  a  delightful  sense  oif 
superiority.  What  a  pleasant  thing  life  was !  How  well  he 
meant  to  explore  and  to  enjoy  it ! 

They  reached  the  vestry  and  took  up  a  position  opposite  the 
door  to  receive  their  friends,  who  immediately  began  to  crowd 
around  them. 

Johns,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  had  a  word  for  each, 
pressing  their  hands  and  looking  into  their  faces  with  that 
expression  of  faithful-dog  sincerity  which  had  done  so  much  for 
him  in  life.    He  would  say  to  the  men  as  they  shook  hands  with 

him,  "  Oh,  Sir  James,"  or  "  Oh,  Lord ,  promise  me  that  we 

shall  see  you  often  in  Grosvenor  Place,"  or  "  I  shall  remember 
your  presence  here  to-day  a  happy  omen,"  or  to  others  of  small 
importance,  "  How  kind  of  you  to  come  !  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you ! "  To  the  ladies  he  said,  "  And  so  you  really  have  been 
good  enough  to  grace  our  wedding  ?"  or  "  How  charming  of  you 
to  be  here ! "  and  there  was  something  in  his  manner  which 
seemed  to  indicate  protection,  patronage,  approval,  as  though 
he  had  been  a  royal  personage  wishing  to  be  gracious  to  his 
subjects.     He,  and  not  his  wife,  was  the  centre  of  attraction. 

One  by  one  his  friends  shook  hands  with  him,  and  for 
each  he  found  a  different  kind  of  greeting.  When  Dawson 
approached  with  an  air  of  familiarity  and  said  loudly  enough 
for  those  around  to  hear,  while  he  pressed  his  hand,  "  I  con- 
gratulate you  in  the  name  of  the  whole  staff,"  he  merely 
answered,  "Thanks,  Dawson,"  and  turned  to  someone  else. 
To  Maskelyne,  who  approached  him  almost  timidly,  he  said 
approvingly,  "Well  Maskelyne,  so  you've  come  to  see  me 
married ! "  while  to  old  Tarte,  who  approached  him  saying, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "  I  always  knew  that  you  would  be  numbered 
among  the  great,"  he  answered,  "  My  worthy  Tarte,  you  are  a 
true  philosopher." 

When  the  Dean  himself  came  in  he  said  to  him,  "Sir,  I 
thank  you  for  your  admirable  discourse.  I  shall  long  remember 
it."  To  the  Stanfields  he  showed  much  deference,  appearing 
not  to  notice  the  curious  smile  with  which  the  peer  regarded 
him,  the  smile  of  a  man  of  assured  position  studying  a  nouveau 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  185 

riche.  Lord  Stanfield,  as  trustee,  knew  the  whole  position  of 
affairs,  and  was,  Johns  thought,  in  many  ways  a  person  to  be 
cultivated  always. 

St.  George  had  been  so  much  occupied  in  talking  to  Miss 
Douglas  that  Johns  had  not  exchanged  a  word  with  him,  and 
he  was  about  to  cross  to  them  so  that  he  might  thank  them 
for  their  kind  offices,  when  suddenly,  to  his  astonishment,  he 
saw  before  him  Mrs.  Weber  1 

Her  presence  in  the  church  had  seemed  to  him  audacious, 
but  that  she  should  come  into  the  vestry  whither  only  those  who 
had  been  invited  to  the  wedding  had  repaired,  seemed  to  him 
extraordinarily  bold.  Surely  she  didn't  mean  to  make  a  scan  'al ! 
And  for  a  moment  he  felt  alarmed. 

But  Mrs.  Weber  put  an  end  to  his  apprehension  by  offer  ng 
her  hand  and  saying  with  a  calm  smile,  and  as  if  confident  in 
the  power  of  her  beauty,  "We  shall  meet  again." 

Johns  glanced  in  the  direction  of  his  wife,  and  seeing 
that  she  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  ladies,  he  pressed  the 
daintily-gloved  hand,  and,  brought  suddenly  again  under  the 
influence  of  the  companion  of  his  early  days,  he  murmured  in 
a  low  tone,  "  We  shall." 

No  one  was  near  them  at  the  time,  and  Mrs.  Weber  moved 
away  after  giving  Johns  a  penetrating  glance. 

With  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  he  pursued  his  original  intention  of 
crossing  to  Miss  Douglas  and  St.  George. 

"  Miss  Douglas,"  he  said,  "  and  you  St.  George,  how  can  I 
thank  you  ?  " 

St.  George  answered,  "For  me  it  has  been  an  intense 
pleasure,"  and  he  looked  at  the  young  girl  in  a  pretty  pink 
silk  dress.  As  she  played  with  her  bouquet  of  white  roses,  her 
pure  young  face  seemed  to  Johns  more  lovable  than  ever. 

Glancing  up,  she  said  in  a  tone  which  scarcely  seemed  tree 
from  malice,  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Johns,  you're  very  happy." 

Somewhat  surprised  at  the  singularity  of  the  remark,  Johns 
answered,  "  Ah ! "  in  a  way  which  left  it  doubtful  whether  he 
was  rejoicing  or  deploring.  "I  hope,"  he  added,  "that  we 
shall  see  you  often,  very  often,  in  Grosvenor  Place." 

She  nodded  without  answering,  and  St.  George  said,  "I 
think,  Johns,  your  bride  is  calling  you,"  and  Johns,  looking 
round,  realized  for  the  first  time,  thoroughly,  that  he  was  not 
free. 

Yes,  his  wife  wanted  him.  It  was  time  to  go.  It  was  all  over. 
They  were  man  and  wife.     Arm-in-arm  they  left  the  church. 

What  a  triumphant  drive  back  it  was  for  Johns,  in  his  own 
carriage,  to  his  own  house,  at  the  side  of  his  bride,  who  sat 


1 86  THE  ADVENTURES 

smiling  placidly,  apparently  contented,  happy!  What  a  glorious 
feeling  of  possession  and  of  power !  How  great  it  was  to  be 
definitely  classed  high  up  above  the  heads  of  untold  thousands 
in  this  monster  city !  And,  after  all,  how  good  of  this  woman 
to  have  placed  him  on  this  pinnacle ! 

When  they  reached  the  bottom  of  Victoria  Street,  his  wife 
said,  "Oh,  Johnnie,  at  last  we're  married!"  and  he  replied, 
"At  last!"  wondering  if  she  had  used  that  phrase  before  to 
either  of  her  former  husbands. 

And  then  again,  a  few  minutes  later,  as  he  ascended  the  fine 
broad  staircase,  followed  by  the  congratulations  of  the  friends 
who  had  already  reached  the  house,  he  fairly  swelled  with 
pride.     All  this  was  his ! 

As  they  were  going  to  leave  by  an  early  train  for  Dover, 
en  route  for  Biarritz,  it  had  been  decided  that  there  should  be 
no  reception.  Mrs.  Johns  had  wished  the  wedding  to  be  a 
quiet  one,  and  Johns  had  acquiesced.  It  was  therefore  only  the 
bride's  relatives  and  the  intimate  friends  who  were  invited  to 
the  luncheon.  These  included  Lord  and  Lady  Stanfield,  the 
Dean,  the  Judge,  St.  George,  and  the  two  bridesmaids,  besides 
a  few  other  friends  and  distant  relatives. 

With  great  dignity  Johns  took  his  place  opposite  his  wife. 
Listening  to  Lord  Stanfield's  conversation,  and  refraining  from 
looking  towards  Miss  Douglas  and  St.  George,  he  remained 
somewhat  silent,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  no  longer  any 
need  to  talk  to  be  appreciated.  But  when  Lord  Stanfield 
drank  the  health  of  the  happy  pair  and  congratulated  Johns 
on  his  conversion  to  the  cause  of  order  (the  name  he  gave  his 
own  party),  Johns,  who  had  now  resigned  his  post  on  the 
radical  print  and  who  was  to  assume  the  conduct  of  the  tory 
review  on  his  return,  in  replying  said,  "It  is  indeed  to  you, 
Lord  Stanfield,  that  I  owe  my  conversion  to  the  party  of 
intelligence  and  of  integrity.  Henceforth  I  intend  to  battle 
in  real  earnest  for  it." 

As  everybody  at  the  table  were  of  conservative  opinions,  and 
would  have  thought  it  little  short  of  madness  to  hold  any  other 
views,  this  announcement  was  received  with  a  murmur  of 
approval. 

Lord  Stanfield  said,  "We  want  your  talent,  Mr.  Johns";  and 
Johns  answered  reassuringly,  without  any  attempt  at  modesty, 
"  Then  you  shall  have  it." 

The  Dean  said,  "It  seems  incomprehensible  to  me  that 
there  should  be  any  other  party,"  and  the  Judge  agreed  that  he 
saw  no  necessity  for  any  other. 

Johns  echoed,  "  No  necessity  whatever." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  187 

The  luncheon  lasted  but  an  hour,  and  shortly  after  it  the 
bride  and  bridegroom,  in  travelling  costume,  were  seen  into 
their  carriage  by  the  guests. 

A  week  afterwards  Johns  and  his  wife  were  sitting  after 
dinner  on  the  terrace  of  the  Casino  at  Biarritz.  Johns, 
smoking  a  cigar,  was  looking  up  at  the  pure  cloudless  sky 
tinted  with  the  last  of  the  sun's  rays.  The  air  had  a  delicious 
coolness  after  a  hot  day,  and  from  the  building  came  the  strains 
of  a  waltz  performed  upon  an  orchestra.  Mrs.  Johns,  in  a  light 
muslin  dress,  with  a  light  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  was 
watching  her  husband  as  he  sent  the  puffs  of  smoke  curling 
skyward. 

Johns  himself  would  have  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  describe 
his  state  of  mind.  He  was  conscious  of  two  feelings  which 
conflicted  with  each  other — a  delicious  sense  of  immunity  from 
future  risks,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  sensation  of  a  man  in 
chains. 

His  experiences  of  the  last  three  days  had  given  him  food 
for  much  reflection.  He  had  had  numerous  occasions  of 
knowing  the  nature  of  the  bargain  he  had  made.  His  wife 
adored  him,  idolized  him,  gratified  his  every  whim,  anticipated 
his  smallest  wish,  but,  alas!  expected  in  return  practical  proofs 
of  his  affection  which  he  was  loath  to  give — which  he  gave 
with  a  reluctance  he  found  it  difficult  to  hide.  Oh,  the  sense 
of  a  possibility  of  something  better  than  this  autumnal  honey- 
moon, than  this  union  of  pure  reason  on  the  one  side,  and 
pure  folly  on  the  other !  How  could  he  help  seeing  constantly 
that  his  wife,  with  her  cajolery  unfitted  for  her  age,  must  always 
be  ridiculous  ?  How  was  he  to  live  day  by  day,  week  by  week, 
and  month  by  month  in  the  presence  of  this  woman  who  would 
not  yield  to  the  inevitable  and  accept  the  course  of  nature  ? 

Was  there,  after  all,  anything  more  stupid  than  this  eternal 
female  instinct  to  combat  decay,  than  this  girlishness  in  evident 
maturity,  this  fierce  tenacious  egoism  in  decline?  Ah!  humanity 
was  a  very  little  thing  indeed,  and  his  view  of  it  had  been  the 
right  one  !  But  now  that  he  had  made  his  compact,  now  that 
he  had  sold  his  youth  for  so  magnificent  a  price,  it  was  of  no 
use  to  recriminate ;  he  must  steel  himself  in  some  way  for  the 
sacrifice  he  was  called  upon  to  make.  After  all,  it  wasn't  so 
very  terrible  to  feign  a  little  love  for  a  few  years  longer.  There 
must  be  a  natural  conclusion  even  to  the  fiercest  flame  at  an 
advanced  period.  And  then,  when  this  tedious  honeymoon 
was  over,  would  there  not  be  compensations  ?  Were  there  not 
always  compensations  for  the  man  whose  wallet  was  teeming 


1 88  THE  ADVENTURES 

with  bank  notes?  Above  all  things,  he  must  always  be  courteous 
to  the  woman  who  had  given  him  so  much.  How  grateful  he 
would  have  been  to  her  if  she  would  only  have  considered  him 
merely  as  an  ornament,  as  a  husband  to  be  proud  of,  instead  of 
wanting  him  to  love  her !  But  these  were  the  circumstances, 
and  he  could  not  change  them. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  Johnnie  ?"  she  asked  tenderly. 

"  Of  nothing,  Rose.  I  was  enjoying  the  coolness  of  this 
terrace  after  the  heat  we  had  to-day  at  St.  Jean  de  Luz. 
Look  at  those  golden  tints  in  that  cloudless  sky  !  They  remind 
me  of  Australian  sunsets  which  give  one  such  a  sense  of 
infinite  expansion!" 

But  the  ideal  side  of  his  wife's  nature  had  been  left 
undeveloped,  and  she  answered,  in  an  ordinary  tone  of 
confirmation — 

"  Yes,  it's  very  pretty,  John,  but  aren't  you  afraid  of  taking 
cold  in  that  thin  jacket?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  an  almost  imperceptible  sigh  of 
resignation,  "  I  don't  take  cold  so  easily." 

The  light  was  waning  and  the  calm  was  broken  only  by  the 
distant  sound  of  the  waves  of  the  Gulf  of  Gascony  breaking 
upon  the  beach,  and  by  the  footsteps  of  the  visitors  going  to 
the  gaming  tables. 

Johns  said  almost  to  himself,  and  in  one  of  the  poetic 
moods  which  now  and  then  came  over  him  after  too  much 
materiality,  "  How  beautiful  the  twilight  is !  Does  it  not 
always  seem  as  though  the  day  were  dying  for  the  last  time, 
as  though  the  darkness  which  is  coming  were  to  be  eternal  ? " 

His  wife  did  not  answer,  and  they  remained  seated  there  in 
silence  until  at  length,  when  Johns  threw  his  cigar  stump  from 
him,  she  whispered,  "  It's  getting  late,  John ;  shall  we  look  in 
at  the  tables  before  going  back  ?  " 

He  had  an  inward  feeling  of  rebellion,  for  "going  back" 
meant  something  very  different  for  him  from  what  it  meant  for 
her,  but  he  replied,  "Just  as  you  like.  Rose." 

They  crossed  the  terrace  and  entered  the  corridor  of  the 
Casino,  from  whence  they  reached  the  gaming  room. 

In  a  long  lofty  room  some  twenty  persons — Spanish,  French, 
and  English — were  assembled  round  a  table  at  which  the  game 
of  little  horses  was  being  played.  There  was  not  much 
animation,  and  the  croupier,  a  stout  man  with  his  hair 
brushed  up  en  brosse,  was  encouraging  the  lookers-on  to  stake. 
Two  showily-dressed  women  of  doubtful  nationality,  much 
past  middle  age,  and  belonging  to  the  strange  vague  class 
that  frequent  casinos,  were  watching  the  game  narrowly,  side 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  189 

by  side,  each  with  a  pile  of  silver  and  a  few  gold  pieces  before 
her.  A  young  Spaniard,  with  a  dark,  short-cut  beard  and  an 
olive-tinted  skin,  was  staking  with  an  air  of  unconcern.  An 
old  man,  with  white  hair  and  clean-shaved  face  and  a  bent  back, 
was  placing  his  franc  pieces  philosophically,  while  a  few 
amateurs  contented  themselves  by  staking  now  and  then  as 
their  fancy  guided  them.  Immediately  Johns  and  his  wife 
were  offered  seats,  and  they  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  green 
cloth-covered  table.  To  Johns  a  game  which  was  limited  to  a 
few  francs  seemed  petty  now,  and  he  watched  the  players  with 
an  amused  smile,  allowing  his  wife  to  stake  instead  of  him. 
She,  he  soon  saw,  was  in  her  element.  She  liked  the  sen- 
sation of  gambling,  he  observed,  for  when,  after  a  few  losses, 
she  won  a  little  heap  of  silver,  decided  pleasure  was  depicted 
on  her  face.  Johns,  as  he  watched  her,  thought,  "She's  as  I 
always  knew  her — matter,  gilded  no  doubt,  but  matter." 

Lazily  he  looked  on  as  she  played,  troubled  somewhat  by 
the  presence  near  him  of  a  Spanish  lady  with  a  fine  oval  face  and 
passionate  dark  eyes,  who  had  just  come  in  accompanied  by  a 
tall  man  who  seemed  to  be  her  husband.  Why  were  young  and 
pretty  women  always  to  be  seen  so  temptingly  in  the  possession 
of  other  men  ?  But  the  excitement  of  the  game  did  not  last,  and 
after  a  tiresome  series  of  alternate  gains  and  losses,  Mrs.  Johns 
declared  that  the  room  was  stifling,  and  that  she  would  like  to 
leave.  Johns,  resigned  to  his  fate,  rose  slowly  and  they  left. 
When  they  found  themselves  again  upon  the  terrace,  the  moon 
was  shining  brightly,  lighting  up  the  fagade  of  the  building  and 
throwing  shadows  upon  the  pavement. 

*'  Let  us  go  home  by  the  sea,"  she  said,  "  it's  so  nice  to  be 
alone,  Johnnie,  on  a  night  like  this,"  and  Johns  said,  lighting 
his  cigar,  "  As  you  please,  Rose." 

They  took  the  path  along  the  beach  to  the  hotel,  and  when 
they  reached  a  part  which  was  deserted  at  that  hour,  she 
exclaimed  lovingly,  "Oh,  my  Johnnie,  put  your  arm  around 
my  waist." 

He  did  as  he  was  bid,  thinking  that  that,  alas,  was  included 
in  the  bargain.  Leaning  with  the  stiff  weight  of  her  mature 
frame  towards  him,  she  murmured,  "  I  never  knew,  Johnnie, 
what  it  was  to  love  before,  to  love  as  you  have  made  me  love. 
How  I  shall  care  for  you,  how  I  shall  cherish  you,  my  prince, 
my  pride,  my  darling  clever  boy,  so  strong,  so  handsome ! 
Johnnie,  you  must  tell  me  all  you  do  and  think,  and  I  will  tell 
you  all  I  do  and  think.  Oh,  Johnnie,  I'm  afraid  you've  been 
a  dreadfully  bad  boy,  but  now  you'll  be  faithful  to  your  little 
wife  and  never  give  her  pain  ?  " 


190  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Yes,  Rose,"  he  said ;  •'  you  won't  have  to  complain  of  me,  I 
fan:y." 

"You  *^ave  such  wicked,  and  yet  such  faithful  eyes,  my 
John ! " 

The  waves  were  breaking  proudly  on  the  white  sandy  beach, 
the  sea  glittered  like  silver  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  high  rocks 
at  either  end  of  the  little  bay  were  bathed  in  brightness. 

As  they  were  drawing  near  the  road  which  led  up  to  the 
hotel  she  stopped  and  said,  "  Kiss  me,  Johnnie  !  I  like  being 
kissed  out  here  ! " 

Again  he  was  forced  to  do  as  he  was  bid,  saying  to  himself 
as  he  kissed  her  cheek,  "  It  can't  go  on  like  this  for  ever  though." 

They  walked  up  the  lane  in  silence,  and  Johns  asked  himself 
a  question.  How  old  might  his  wife  be  ?  It  was  stupid  of  him 
not  to  have  found  out,  but  he  had  been  so  busy,  and  she  so 
reticent,  that  the  fact  was  he  did  not  know.  No  doubt  he 
could  make  a  guess  which  had  a  good  chance  of  being  accurate, 
but  then  it  would  only  be  a  guess,  and  he  must,  for  many 
reasons,  ascertain  exactly.  On  his  return  he  would  make 
inquiries. 

How  long,  he  asked  himself,  could  a  woman  keep  up  the 
illusion  of  love  ?  How  long  could  she  expect  to  be  attractive 
to  a  man  ?  And  the  answer  seemed  to  be — for  ever !  Yes, 
just  as  there  were  no  bounds  to  female  vanity,  so  there  were  no 
limits  to  a  woman's  faculty  of  self-delusion.  Wonderful 
humanity ! 

They  reached  the  end  of  the  long  lane  and  entered  the  hotel, 
a  fine,  square  building  standing  in  its  own  grounds  on  a  slight 
eminence. 

Crossing  the  spacious  hall  in  which  a  few  visitors  in  rocking- 
chairs  were  enjoying  the  cool  air  near  the  open  door,  they 
passed  along  a  passage  to  their  rooms. 

On  the  table  in  the  sitting-room,  a  small  room  furnished 
warmly  with  red  velvet  covering  and  hangings,  they  found  a 
packet  of  letters  from  their  friends.  Mrs.  Johns,  to  whom 
the  majority  had  been  addressed,  took  up  the  packet  and 
glanced  at  the  writing  on  the  envelopes.  Then  she  put  it 
down  again. 

"  What  do  they  matter  to  me  now  ?  I'll  read  them  some 
time  to-morrow.  To-night  I  don't  want  to  think  of  anyone  but 
you,  my  John,  of  no  one  but  you,  my  darling  boy ! " 

And  she  made  him  sit  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  placing  bis 
arm  around  her. 

But  he,  glad  of  a  pretext  to  postpone  the  inevitable  sequel  to 
her  tenderness,  replied,  "There's  plenty  of  time  before  us, 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  191 

Rose.  Just  open  some  of  your  letters  and  see  what  they're 
about." 

Reluctantly  she  rose  and  took  the  packet  from  the  table. 

"  It  seems  so  strange,"  she  said,  as  she  broke  an  envelope 
with  a  monogram,  "  to  see  Mrs.  Johns." 

He  thought,  "  Very  strange,  when  she's  had  three  names 
already ! " 

"  Yes,  it's  one  syllable  less,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  so  proud  of  it.  Everybody  knows  of  you,  my 
Johnnie,  and  your  name  is  better  than  many  titles." 

He  thought,  "  What  close  appraisers  women  are  !  " 

"  Here's  one  from  Edith  Douglas.  She  says  they're  starting 
this  week  for  Switzerland,  and  she  asks  to  be  remembered  to 
you." 

"  Ah,"  he  thought,  "  if  she  were  only  sitting  next  me  at  the 
present  moment ! " 

"And  here's  one,"  she  continued,  handing  him  a  letter, 
"  addressed  to  you.     I  think  it's  from  St.  George." 

Johns  opened  the  note  and  read  it. 

St.  George,  after  a  few  good  wishes  expressed  in  carefully 
chosen  words,  not  altogether  free  from  a  delicately -veiled 
sarcasm,  apprised  his  friend  that  he,  too,  was  going  to  spend 
a  month  in  Switzerland. 

"  That's  curious,"  said  Johns,  "Miss  Douglas  and  St.  George 
are  both  going  to  the  Alps." 

She  answered,  "  Perhaps  they'll  make  a  match  there.  What 
a  nice  couple  they  would  make ! " 

"  Oh,"  said  Johns,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  St.  George  is 
decorative  enough,  but  he's  a  great  noodle.  I  should  think 
Miss  Douglas  had  perceived  it  by  this  time." 

"  Ah  !  there  are  so  few  like  you  ! " 

She  went  on  opening  the  letters  and  glancing  over  their 
contents. 

Presently  she  said,  "  Here's  one  from  the  Dean." 

"  What  has  the  worthy  man  to  say  ?  "  Johns  asked. 

Gradually,  as  she  read,  her  face  grew  serious.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  let  the  letter  drop  upon  her  lap  and  looked 
reflective. 

Then,  without  replying  to  his  question,  she  handed  the  letter 
to  Johns. 

In  acid  terms  the  Dean  expressed  surprise,  astonishment, 
at  having  learnt  from  Lord  Stanfield  that  Mrs.  Johns  had 
disinherited  his  children  by  a  marriage  settlement  of  so  unusual 
a  nature.  Of  course,  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  dispose  of  her 
fortune  as  she  chose,  but  it  had  always  been  understood  that 


iga  THE  ADVENTURES 

his  sons  were  to  be  remembered  in  her  will.  There  was  no 
legal  obligation,  he  pointed  out,  but  there  was  a  moral  one,  and 
moral  obligations  were  binding  on  persons  of  their  rank.  He 
trusted  that  both  her  husband  and  herself  would  take  such 
measures  as  would  insure  some  fulfilment  of  the  promises  which 
had  been  made.  Any  other  course  of  conduct  he  could  not 
conceive.  He  expected  an  answer  to  reassure  him  without 
loss  of  time. 

When  Johns  had  finished  reading  the  rounded  sentences  of 
the  irate  Dean,  he  said,  "  Oh,  that's  nothing.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  write  and  tell  him  that  his  progeny  won't  be  forgotten." 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  think  he'll  want  something  more  than 
an  assurance  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  may,  but  he  can't  have  it.  What  business,  I 
should  like  to  know,  has  he  to  have  nine  children  ?  It's  rank 
improvidence !" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said,  "  Oh,  my 
Johnnie,  say  you'll  be  faithful  to  me  always  ! " 

"  Always,  Rose,  of  course." 

"  I've  read  enough  letters  for  to-night,"  she  said  softly, 
looking  at  the  clock.     "  It's  getting  late." 

He  thought,  "  She  means  to  have  her  money's  worth." 

Rising,  he  said,  "  I  just  want  to  smoke  a  last  cigar  outside." 

She  gave  him  a  tender  look  and  said,  "  Don't  be  long,  my 
John." 

He  left,  and  in  the  hall  he  met  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel 
who  had  shown  him,  ever  since  his  arrival,  a  great  deal  of 
attention. 

The  little  man,  with  a  round  jovial  face,  remarked,  "  Monsieur 
is  going  to  smoke  upon  the  terrace.  It's  a  good  idea.  The 
night  is  perfect." 

Then  he  added,  with  an  air  of  great  concern,  "  I  trust 
Madame  is  quite  well.  I  was  afraid  Madame  was  tired  this 
evening  after  the  drive  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz." 

"  I  wish  she  was,"  thought  Johns. 

He  answered,  "  No,  thank  you,  Monsieur  Bouchard;  Madame 
is  always  well." 

"  Ah,  I  am  so  glad.  It  causes  me  the  greatest  trouble  when 
any  of  my  visitors  are  ill.  I  have  always  been  like  that.  I 
only  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  for  a  few  weeks ;  but 
I  am  only  happy  when  I  think  they  are  enjoying  themselves  as 
much  as  possible  at  Biarritz." 

Johns,  after  lighting  his  cigar,  left  the  hotel  to  stroll  upon 
the  gravelled  paths  in  front  of  it. 

There,  in  the  stillness  of  the  grounds — a  stillness  broken 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  193 

only  by  the  closing  of  a  window  or  by  the  footsteps  of  an 
occasional  visitor  returning  from  the  Casino — he  indulged  in 
his  reflections. 

He  was  rich  beyond  all  the  dreams  he  had  ever  formed,  but, 
alas  !  he  had  parted  with  his  liberty ;  he  owed  allegiance  to  the 
woman  who  had  become  his  wife,  and  who  no  more  satisfied 
his  longings  than  a  stale  crust  does  the  hunger  of  a  hungry 
man.  Ah !  life  that  evening  seemed  to  him  less  roseate  than 
it  had  seemed  upon  his  wedding-day.  It  appeared  to  him 
more  dreary  than  he  had  ever  thought  it  could  be  for  a  man 
as  rich  as  he,  and  for  a  moment  he  stopped  to  ask  himself 
whether  he  might  not,  by  waiting,  have  done  better.  But  no, 
hesitation  in  these  things  was  fatal.  He  must  reconcile  himself 
to  the  existence  which  was  offered  him. 

Thinking  what  a  lottery  hfe  was,  he  walked  many  times  up 
and  down  the  path  in  the  day-Uke  brightness  of  the  moonlight. 
Just  as  he  had  finished  his  cigar,  a  window  on  the  ground  floor 
opened. 

Presently  a  voice  called  sofdy,  "  Johnnie." 

He  threw  away  the  end  of  his  cigar,  and  with  a  sigh  went  in. 


CHAPTER 
THIRTEENTH 

IN  September,  after  a  journey  through  the  Basque  country, 
the  Johns  returned  to  town.  The  remainder  of  their 
wedding  trip  had  been  much  the  same  as  its  commencement, 
and  Johns  had  contrived  to  discipline  himself  into  some  sort 
of  resignation  to  his  lot. 

It  was  a  fine  sensation,  after  all,  to  find  himself  installed  in 
the  great  house  in  Grosvenor  Place  as  master,  to  awake  each 
morning  in  the  luxurious  bedroom  with  its  damask  hangings, 
its  carved  oak  wardrobes  and  its  satin-covered  chairs,  to  exist 
in  beautiful  surroundings,  with  a  dozen  servants  at  command. 
It  was  no  less  pleasant,  also,  to  assume  the  direction  of  the 
Review  of  which  he  had  become  editor  and  part  proprietor, 
and  for  many  weeks  he  was  busily  engaged  making  arrange- 
ments and  studying  editorships,  such  as  those  of  Mr. 
Morley  and  Mr.  Harris  on  the  Fortnightly.  He  wanted  to 
dazzle  the  literary  world  by  the  originality  and  force  of  his 
direction,  and  in  order  to  achieve  his  purpose,  he  applied  him- 
self, as  he  had  done  before,  with  zeal,  to  the  task  of  recruiting 
the  best  brains.  The  Centenary^  he  said,  must  have  the  highest 
talent  in  the  land;  it  must  stand  at  the  head  of  all  the 
periodicals.  It  must  surpass  them  all.  And  either  owing  to 
the  personal  attraction  which  he  exercised  or  to  the  curiosity 
which  he  excited,  it  was  not  long  before  his  office  in  Bedford 
Street  became  the  rendezvous  of  many  of  the  best  intellects  in 
London.  Johns,  without  a  tithe  of  the  knowledge  his  con- 
tributors possessed,  would  sit  in  his  office  chair  and  pontificate 
to  them  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  with  a  quaint  philosophy 
drawn  from  his  experience  of  life,  with  a  vigour  which  left  his 
hearers  wondering  whether  he  was  a  charlatan  or  a  great  man, 
and  generally  inclined,  they  scarcely  could  tell  why,  to  the 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  195 

latter  view.  Without  ever  saying  anything  that  was  absolutely 
new,  he  continued  to  give  an  impressiveness  and  interest  to 
what  he  said,  and,  above  all,  he  was  careful  never  to  make  an 
error  of  fact,  possessing  a  talent  for  working  round  a  subject 
and  not  committing  himself  to  statements  whenever  he  was 
ignorant.  They  Ustened  to  him  because  he  found  the  means 
to  interest  them,  and  they  gave  their  articles  to  him  in  preference 
to  giving  them  to  editors  who  were  less  brilliant  and  less 
entertaining.  In  this  way,  by  exercising  a  severe  eclecticism, 
and  by  ruthlessly  dispensing  with  the  services  of  former  writers, 
he  soon  raised  the  Magazine,  if  not  exactly  to  the  heights  he 
wished,  at  all  events  to  a  fair  position  amongst  its  competitors 

Mrs.  Johns's  drawing-room  now  became  thronged  by  many 
of  the  aristocrats  of  intellect,  who  at  times  embarrassed  her,  and 
to  whom  she  found  it  difficult  to  speak — an  aristocracy  among 
which  her  old  friends  were  as  strangers.  She  did  her  best, 
however,  and  had  sense  enough  not  to  pretend  to  knowledge 
which  she  did  not  possess.  There  were  amenities  and  satis- 
factions also  for  feminine  vanity  in  the  position  she  now 
occupied.  It  was  amusing,  too,  to  invite  the  aspirants  she  met 
to  come  and  see  her  husband,  and  it  pleased  her  vanity  to 
notice  how  nervous  they  often  were  before  him.  Often  she 
would  promise  her  intercession  to  obtain  an  interview,  like 
Josephine  interceding  with  Napoleon  for  a  protegi,  or  she 
would  show  commiseration  for  a  candidate  whose  work  had 
been  rejected,  although  she  would  cease  inviting  him  to  call. 
While  Johns  was  at  her  side,  it  was  easy  to  manage  the  conver- 
sation; but  when  he  was  not  there,  she  was  forced  to  have 
recourse  to — "  My  husband  could  tell  you  that,"  or  "John  would 
be  sure  to  know,"  even  when  it  was  a  question  of  what  they  had 
seen  abroad,  or  the  names  of  the  places  they  had  visited.  For 
her  mental  indolence  was  such  that  she  never  troubled  to 
burden  her  memory  with  foreign  names.  She  had  always 
found  that  wealth  atoned  so  well  for  ignorance! 

Henceforth  she  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  her  husband's 
fame,  and  seemed  perfectly  contented  with  the  part  she  played, 
enjoying  the  sense  of  being  the  wife  of  a  man  whom  everyone 
around  him  seemed  to  consider  as  a  force  of  nature.  It  was 
true  that  some  of  her  intimate  friends  were  given  to  chaffing 
her  at  times  for  idolizing  Johns,  but  she  would  answer,  "  Oh, 
but  he  is  such  a  clever  boy !  Everybody  says  so."  And  what 
everybody  said  was  always  a  law  for  her. 

During  the  winter  the  Johns,  reserving  themselves  for  the 
season  when  people  more  worth  inviting  than  men  of  letters 
were  in  town,  received  little.     Johns  wanted  to  establish  his 


196  THE  ADVENTURES 

Review  upon  a  proper  footing,  and  the  winter  months  were 
convenient  for  so  doing. 

One  day,  however,  towards  the  end  of  December,  when  he 
was  in  his  office  talking  to  his  secretary,  a  clerk  came  in  and 
announced  that  a  lady  wished  to  speak  to  him. 

**  A  lady  ?  "  said  Johns.  "  It's  one  of  those  damned  writing 
women !  I  won't  have  them  at  any  price.  Tell  her  I'm 
engaged ! " 

The  clerk  retired,  but  presently  returned  to  say  that  the  lady 
had  not  come  on  business. 

'*  What  is  her  name  ?  "  asked  Johns. 

"She  won't  give  her  name,  sir.  She  says  she  must  see 
you  personally." 

"Is  she  dark?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  pretty,  Simpson  ?  * 

"  I  should  say  so,  sir." 

"  Show  her  in." 

Johns  had  a  strong  presentiment  as  to  who  the  dark  and 
pretty  lady  was,  and  he  said  to  his  secretary  as  the  latter  was 
retiring,  "  I'm  not  in,  Vaughan,  for  anyone." 

Johns  had  had  his  room  furnished  with  more  elegance  than  is 
usually  to  be  met  with  in  editorial  rooms.  He  meant  not  only 
to  receive  men  who  live  by  writing,  but  celebrities  of  all  kinds 
anxious  to  see  their  names  in  print.  He  meant  the  Review  to 
serve  his  purposes  in  many  more  ways  than  one.  Thus,  instead 
of  the  long  table  or  the  hard  chairs  usually  to  be  seen  in 
editorial  rooms,  he  had  a  carved  oak  writing  desk  and  a  suite 
of  red  leather  arm-chairs  and  divans. 

Almost  immediately  a  lady  wrapped  in  furs  was  shown  in  by 
the  clerk. 

"  I  guessed  it  was  you,  Ellen,"  he  said,  as  he  recognized  Mrs. 
Weber,  "  no  one  else  would  have  such  cheek." 

She  tossed  her  muflf  upon  the  sofa  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh,  and  stood  before  him  in  a  defiant  attitude. 

"  I'm  not  so  easy  to  get  rid  of  as  you  think,"  she  said.  "  1 
told  you  we  should  meet  again." 

"  I  don't  wanf  to  get  rid  of  you,  Ellen,  if  you're  reason- 
able." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  being  reasonable?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  marry  you  now,  can  I  ?  " 

"That's  evident." 

"  But,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  if  you  are  willing  to  be  a 
good  little  woman  again,  why  shouldn't  things  be  as  they  were 
befortt?" 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  197 

"Ha,  ha,"  she  laughed;  "have  you  had  enough  of  your 
antiquity  ?  " 

"  My  wife,"  he  said,  smiling,  **  is  a  charming  woman." 

"  What  a  fearful  humbug  you  are,  John." 

"What  about  Parker,  Ellen?" 

••  I  never  see  him  now.  He  found  out  about  us  somehow 
and  we  quarrelled." 

Johns  thought,  "And  he's  withdrawn  supplies."  He  said, 
"  And  so  you're  a  little  lonely  widow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  the  present.     When  will  you  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"By  God,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  enthusiasm 
aroused  by  her  triumphant  beauty,  "  I'll  come  to-morrow  ! " 

" I  thought  you  would,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet  laugl. .  "I 
knew  that  that  old  woman  wouldn't  keep  you  from  me  long. 
It's  no  use  to  try  to  struggle  against  nature.    It  can't  be  done." 

"  No,  Ellen,  it  can't." 

Consoling  themselves  with  this  reflection,  they  were  silent  for 
a  few  minutes.  Then  he  rose,  and,  darting  quickly  to  the  sofa, 
took  a  seat  close  beside  her,  and  placed  his  arm  around  her 
waist.  She  was  the  sweetest,  prettiest,  most  lovable  of  women, 
the  only  woman  he  had  ever  loved,  he  whispered,  the  only 
woman  he  could  ever  love.  Of  course  he  had  had  to  marry. 
In  certain  cases  a  man  couldn't  go  against  his  luck,  but  what  of 
that?  Everything  could  be  so  easily  arranged  when  people 
made  up  their  minds  to  be  reasonable.  They  had  many  happy 
days  before  them  now !  Then,  as  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  he  left  her  quickly  and  resumed  his  seat  before  his  table. 

The  clerk  who  entered  said,  "  Mrs.  Johns  has  called  for  you 
in  the  carriage,  sir." 

Johns  answered,  "  Tell  her  I'll  be  with  her  in  a  minute," 
and  then,  turning  to  his  companion  as  soon  as  the  clerk  had 
left,  he  said,  "You  see,  Ellen,  it's  dangerous  to  come  here. 
Don't  come  again." 

"  I  won't  now,"  she  answered ;  "  I'll  expect  you  at  four 
to-morrow." 

After  pressing  her  hand  warmly,  he  took  his  hat  and  left 
before  her,  to  drive  home  with  his  wife. 

And  in  this  way  an  existence  soon  commenced  for  Johns 
which  was  full  of  satisfactions,  the  drawbacks  of  which  were 
so  well  compensated  for  that  they  ceased  to  be  so  hard 
to  bear. 

To  avoid  giving  rise  to  comment  on  the  part  of  servants, 
Johns  engaged  rooms  in  Pimlico,  not  far  from  Carsdale 
Mansions,  where  Mrs.  Weber  met  him  by  appointment,  and 
where,  at  each  meeting,  they  would  spend  a  few  hours  in  the 


198  THE  ADVENTURES 

afternoon  or  sometimes  in  the  evening,  though  not  often,  as 
Mrs.  Johns  always  liked  to  spend  the  evening  in  her  husband's 
company,  whether  they  stayed  at  home  or  whether  they 
went  out. 

And  thus  the  months  passed  for  Johns,  who  divided  his 
time  between  his  house,  his  office,  and  the  daintily-furnished 
pair  of  rooms,  which  he  kept  filled  with  flowers  so  that  it  might 
seem,  as  he  told  Ellen,  a  true  love's  arbour.  In  her  he  found 
a  companion  to  whom  he  could  speak  of  his  aims  and  projects 
with  a  chance  of  being  understood,  and  gradually  he  fell  into 
the  way  of  discussing  delicate  questions  with  her,  and  of  merely 
telling  his  wife  the  plain  results  of  things.  For  he  had  soon 
perceived  that  the  powers  of  comprehension  of  Mrs.  Johns 
were  equal  to  no  greater  task. 

And  for  a  time  he  took  delight  in  making  costly  presents 
to  Ellenita,  as  he  now  sometimes  called  her  —  presents  of 
jewellery,  which,  considering  the  amount  he  had  had  to  pay 
out  of  his  current  income  for  the  purchase  of  the  shares  in  the 
Magazine,  were  almost  a  strain  upon  his  purse. 

But  he  wanted  Ellenita  to  be  happy,  and  he  thought  that 
women  are  ever  made  so  by  the  possession  of  these  things. 
To  relieve  her  of  money  troubles  also,  he  had  undertaken  to 
pay  the  rent  of  her  flat  in  Carsdale  Mansions  in  remembrance, 
as  he  told  her,  of  the  joyful  hours  they  had  passed  together 
there. 

Never,  in  his  life,  had  he  been  so  happy. 

When  the  season  commenced,  the  Johns's  inaugurated  it  with 
a  series  of  receptions.  The  doors  of  the  great  drawing-room 
were  thrown  open  once  a  fortnight  to  all  who  had  a  name  in 
art  and  letters,  as  well  as  to  the  patrons  by  whom  art  and  letters 
live.  Johns's  ambition  was  to  become  known  to  everyone 
worth  knowing,  so  that  when  his  name  was  mentioned,  no 
matter  in  what  circle,  everybody  should  know  the  personality 
expressed  by  it.  He  had  divided  their  acquaintances  into  three 
classes.  The  first  was  composed  of  those  who  were  only  to  be 
invited  to  select  dinners,  such  as  titled  persons,  heroes,  states- 
men, or  distinguished  artists ;  the  second  consisted  of  relatives 
and  friends,  and  of  people  whom  it  might  be  of  temporary 
interest  to  know ;  and  the  third  of  minor  personages,  vaguely 
met  and  imperfectly  remembered,  but  whom  it  was  politic  to 
invite  to  general  receptions. 

One  day,  as  they  were  sending  out  the  invitations  for  a 
reception  of  the  latter  kind,  Johns  remarked,  "  I  should  think, 
Rose,  we  might  send  one  to  the  Dawsons.  It's  true  that 
be  owns  a  halfpenny  print,   but   I    assure    you   he's  quite 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  199 

presentable,  and  his  wife  is  a  remarkably  nice  and  rather 
pretty  woman." 

Mrs.  Johns,  who  could  not  endure  hearing  other  women 
praised,  and  who  was  inclined  to  be  alarmed  at  her  husband's 
extraordinary  popularity  with  all  the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance, 
answered,  "  They're  rather  vulgar  people,  I've  been  told." 

"  Ah !  my  dear  Rose,  no  one  who  is  rich  is  really  vulgar 
now.  Of  course  they  don't  belong  to  our  class,  but  I  assure 
you  they'll  do  for  a  reception.  Besides,  who  knows?  we  might 
convert  old  Dawson." 

His  wife  replied,  without  the  least  enthusiasm,  "  Very  well 
then.     Send  them  an  invitation." 

Johns  had  absolutely  refused  to  invite  Mrs.  Weber  to  his 
house  on  the  pretext  that  his  wife  was  terribly  suspicious ;  but 
a  feeling  of  curiosity,  a  desire  to  be  seen  in  his  present  splendour, 
prompted  him  to  invite  the  Dawsons. 

Mrs.  Dawson  was  a  woman  who  could  be  relied  upon,  and 
who  would  never  become  troublesome,  while  with  Mrs.  Weber 
one  never  could  be  sure.  It  was  not  that  he  wished  to 
recommence  an  intimacy  with  Lucy,  but  he  had  not  met  her 
since  their  rupture,  and  he  thought  he  would  like  to  see  how 
she  was  getting  on.  He  felt  so  secure  in  his  position  that  he 
had  no  fear  now  of  committing  an  imprudence. 

In  the  drawing-room,  on  the  first  of  these  receptions,  the 
Johns  were  awaiting,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  arrival  of  the  guests. 

Johns,  who  had  been  a  little  remiss  in  his  attentions  to  his 
wife  of  late — staying  with  Mrs.  Weber  under  pretence  of  dining 
at  the  club — wanted  to  make  amends. 

Approaching  her,  therefore,  as  she  was  reclining  in  a  low  arm- 
chair, he  took  her  hand. 

"  You  look  a  little  tired.  Rose.     Are  you  not  quite  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  thanks,  John,"  she  said,  with  a  look  of  gratitude,  "  I 
only  hope  there  won't  be  too  great  a  crush  this  evening.  And, 
oh,  my  Johnnie !  all  those  women  who  flatter  you  so  much, 
don't  let  them  turn  your  head.  Do  you  know  that  when  I  see 
them  almost  making  love  to  you,  I  can't  help  feeling  jealous  ? 
You  mustn't  listen  to  them,  Johnnie." 

"  Don't  be  anxious.  Rose,"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  smile  ; 
"  I'm  steeled  against  their  darts." 

"Yes,"  she  said  reassured;  "I've  noticed  that  you  don't 
encourage  them.     I  know  that  I  can  trust  you." 

Then,  reassured  and  brightened,  she  exclaimed,  "  Look, 
Johnnie,  at  my  lamps !     You  haven't  seen  them  properly." 

And  she  showed  him  the  new  arrangement  of  the  lights 
along  the  walls — a  whim  of  her's  to  have  little  gilded  cupids, 


aoo  THE  ADVENTURES 

perfect  little  gems  of  art,  all  round  the  room,  each  holding  by 
the  stem  an  orange  which  gave  forth  a  soft  pale  yellow  light, 
harmonizing  with  the  furniture  and  decoration.  "  Aren't  they 
pretty  ?  " 

But  Johns,  whom  nothing,  however  small,  escaped,  had 
noticed  them  when  coming  into  the  room,  and  they  had  met 
with  his  entire  disapproval.  They  were,  he  knew,  terribly 
expensive,  and  they  might,  moreover,  give  rise  to  comments. 
Cupids,  indeed,  under  such  circumstances !  But  it  was  no 
use,  women  were  eternally  and  irremediably  foolish.  To 
please  her  he  rose  and  examined  the  metal  figures  with 
attention. 

Then  he  said,  "  Charming,  Rose.  They  are  a  proof  of  your 
good  taste." 

"  You're  quite  delightful  to-night,  Johnnie." 

Perceiving  that  the  bunch  of  white  carnations  he  was 
wearing  was  not  well  fixed,  she  rose  and  fastened  it  with  a 
little  diamond-headed  pin  which  she  drew  from  her  own  bodice. 
Then,  retreating  a  little  from  him  to  judge  the  general  effect, 
she  exclaimed  rapturously,  "  I  never  saw  you  look  so  nice,  my 
Johnnie — my  own  prince ! "  and  mentally  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  thinking  "  What  an  ass  the  woman  is." 

But  the  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive,  and  Mrs.  Johns, 
adjusting  her  low-necked  dress  of  yellow  silk,  took  up  her 
position  on  the  threshold  to  receive  them.  Johns  hovered 
about  from  door  to  door. 

It  was  evident  from  the  commencement  that  there  was  going 
to  be  a  crush.  Everybody  who  had  been  invited  seemed  to 
be  arriving.  It  was  to  be  one  of  those  receptions  to  which 
people  eager  to  be  seen  at  the  house  of  a  celebrity  come 
in  shoals. 

As  he  watched  them  trooping  in,  Johns  thought,  "What 
sheep  they  are ! "  for,  in  spite  of  his  elevation  to  the  upper 
strata  of  society,  he  had  scarcely  lost  the  secret  rancour  of  his 
class  against  the  aristocracy. 

Oh,  it  was  a  delightful  thought  to  think  that  he,  John  Johns, 
had  forced  these  buckram  ed  mortals  to  open  their  doors  to 
him,  to  provide  him  with  a  wife,  and  to  shower  wealth 
upon  him ! 

One  by  one,  he  heard  announced  the  names  of  men  who  had 
done  vastly  more  than  he  to  earn  their  meed  of  fame — names 
of  oflScers  who  had  served  their  country  or  whose  ancestors 
had  done  so,  of  scientists  who  had  made  discoveries,  of 
statesmen  who  had  governed  England,  of  writers  who  had 
written  masterpieces,  of  painters  who  had  painted  them,  of 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aoi 

eminent  ecclesiastics  of  whose  dogmas  he  didn't  believe  a  word, 
and  of  famous  doctors  whom  he  wouldn't  trust.  And  they  all 
came  to  his  house  (for  it  was  his  house)  simply  because  he,  the 
son  of  old  David  Johns,  had  managed  to  fascinate  a  silly 
woman !  Well,  it  was  a  curious  world,  and  what  a  lot  of 
puppets  these  people  seemed  to  him  as  they  made  their  little 
bow,  and  then  disappeared  amid  the  crowd !  Life  was  full  of 
contrasts  and  of  contradictions  ! 

Lord  Stanfield  arrived  early,  accompanied,  not  by  his  wife — 
his  wife  never  went  to  receptions  of  this  kind — but  by  a 
dark -haired  young  man  with  a  thin  face  of  some  intelli- 
gence. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty,"  the  peer  said,  "  of  bringing 
Mr.  Le  Neve,  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you  a  little  while  ago." 

Johns  shook  hands  with  the  young  man. 

"  My  dear  Lord  Stanfield,"  he  said,  "  I'm  only  too  delighted 
and  too  charmed." 

They  chatted  for  a  few  moments,  and  presently  Le  Neve 
recognized  a  friend  with  whom  he  spoke. 

Lord  Stanfield  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  say  to 
Johns,  "Mr.  Le  Neve  has  just  left  the  University  and  is  in 
want  of  an  employment.  You  would  confer  a  great  favour  on 
me  if  you  would  take  him  into  your  office  as  a  species  of 
sub-editor,     I  think  he  would  be  quite  competent." 

Johns  answered,  "Certainly,  if  you  recommend  him,  I  will 
at  once.     You  can  tell  him  to  come  to  me  to-morrow." 

Evidently  anxious  to  obtain  a  post  for  the  young  man,  Lord 
Stanfield  thanked  Johns  warmly,  and  as  they  separated  after  a 
few  moments,  Johns  reflected,  "I  can  even  oblige  a  lord 
to-night !  " 

The  guests  continued  to  arrive.  The  bare  arms  and  necks 
of  the  women  vied  with  each  other  in  a  contest  of  pink  beauty. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  women,  by  a  tacit  understanding,  had, 
in  dress  and  looks,  done  their  utmost  to  dazzle  and  to  charm. 
Had  the  sombre  coats  of  the  men  been  absent,  the  room 
would  have  seemed  ablaze  with  brightness  and  with  colour. 
Presently  Miss  Douglas,  tenderly  graceful  in  her  simple  frock 
of  white  surah  silk,  came  in,  accompanied  by  her  father. 

Johns  had  heard  what  had  occurred  in  Switzerland.  St. 
George  had  met  them  there,  had  asked  her  hand  and  been 
rejected,  and  ever  since,  the  poor  fellow  had  been  looking  thin 
and  miserable.  As  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  them,  Johns 
abruptly  left  three  American  ladies  who  had  attacked  him,  and 
advanced  to  meet  the  old  Colonel  and  his  daughter. 

"How  kind,  how  charming  of  you  to  cornel     Colonel,  I 


ao2  THE  ADVENTURES 

have  never  seen  you  look  so  well,  and  you,  Miss  Douglas,  it 
is  so  long  since  you  have  graced  us  with  a  visit ! " 

The  Colonel,  a  tall,  erect  old  man,  with  snow-white  hair, 
replied,  "  I  have  the  greatest  trouble,  Mr.  Johns,  to  induce  my 
daughter  to  pay  visits.  She's  terribly  remiss  in  what  seems  to 
me  to  be  the  first  of  social  duties." 

Miss  Douglas,  without  answering,  glanced  at  Johns  with  a 
meditative  smile. 

Johns  thought,  "  I  must  separate  them." 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to  take  your  daughter  from 
you.  I  want  to  introduce  her  to  some  people  who  will  perhaps 
induce  her  to  be  less  cruel.  Come,  Miss  Douglas,  you  are  in 
my  hands  to-night." 

As  soon  as  they  had  left  the  Colonel,  he  said,  quickly,  "  Let 
us  go  downstairs  to  the  refreshment  room;  I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

Without  answering,  she  let  him  lead  her  to  a  room  on  the 
ground  floor  where  a  long  table  full  of  delicacies  was  being 
served  by  half  a  dozen  solemn  waiters. 

At  one  end  of  the  room  was  a  small  recess  which  was 
furnished  with  a  velvet-cushioned  bench. 

Johns  said,  as  they  sat  down,  "  Miss  Douglas,  now  that  I 
am  married,  I'm  privileged  to  speak  paternally." 

Then,  lowering  his  tone,  he  asked,  "  Couldn't  you  like  St 
George  ?  " 

Startled  by  the  directness  of  the  question,  for  which  she  was 
unprepared,  she  answered,  "  I  didn't  know  that  marriage  gave 
a  right  to  ask  such  questions." 

"  It  does  to  me.  Miss  Douglas,  because  I  take  an  interest  in 
your  welfare,  a  greater  interest  than  you  imagine." 

She  gave  him  a  rapid  glance. 

"  Ah,  your  interests  are  very  wide." 

Without  appearing  to  perceive  the  drift  of  this  remark,  he 
said,  "  Do  you  know.  Miss  Douglas,  that  when  I  saw  you  for 
the  first  time,  I  was  reminded  of  one  of  those  perfect  models  of 
Greek  art  which  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  time  of  Phidias? 
It  seemed  to  me  that  you  were  the  true  expression  of  that  great 
man's  brain,  the  incarnation  of  his  rich  fancy.  Later  I  heard 
that  my  friend  St.  George  had  been  as  deeply  struck  as  I.  When 
he  told  me  that  he  meant  to  ask  your  hand,  I  thought  him 
the  most  enviable  man  in  the  whole  world,  for  I  imagined  that 
he  would  find  favour  in  your  eyes.  But  it  seems  I  was  mistaken. 
It  seems  that  poor  St.  George  had  built  his  hopes  in  vain,  and 
that  now  he  is  obliged  to  live  with  his  regrets.  And  what 
regrets  I    Ah,  were  there  ever  such  regrets  ?" 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aoj 

*'  Are  you  grieving  for  your  friend  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  For  my  friend  ?"  he  repeated,  "  I  scarcely  know ;  I  scarcely 
like  to  think";  and  he  gazed  at  her  deeply,  earnestly. 

She  said,  "  Two  years  ago  if  I  had  asked  you  that  question, 
would  you  have  known  what  to  answer  ?" 

"  Two  years  ago  I  would  have  pleaded  for  myself." 

She  said,  "  Fate  settles  things  so  badly." 

"  It  does,"  he  echoed,  sorrowfully. 

"  And  some  day,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  you  will  meet  the 
man  who  will  be  more  fortunate  than  St.  George,  and  then  we 
will  be  divided  by  a  double  bar." 

She  was  silent.  Presently  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  why  we 
have  talked  of  this." 

He  answered,  *'  I  will  tell  you  why.  It  was  because  we 
were  impelled  to  by  that  fatal  magnetism  which  no  one  can 
escape,  which  no  one  can  resist.  I  felt  when  I  saw  you  enter 
this  evening  that  I  should  betray  myself ;  I  knew  that  I  was 
under  the  influence  of  a  great,  an  irresistible  attraction.  Ah, 
Miss  Douglas,  the  fire  that  I  see  in  those  beautiful  dark 
eyes  of  yours,  tells  me  plainly  why  St.  George  was  unsuccessful. 
St.  George,  with  his  leisurely  and  quiet  ways,  was  not  the 
husband  you  deserve.  You  were  born  to  be  the  solace  of  a 
man  of  action,  of  a  man  who  can  force  his  way  to  the 
position  which  he  wants.  And  some  day  perhaps,  you  will 
meet  that  man,  you  will  marry  him,  and  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  be  a  mere  witness  to  the  marrying  ! " 

"  Who  knows  1 "  she  said,  "  things  happen  strangely  some- 
times." 

He  glanced  up  at  her  suddenly  and  searchingly,  seeking  to 
guess  her  meaning.  Then  they  were  both  silent  for  some 
minutes. 

Presently  the  strains  of  a  violin  penetrated  to  the  recess 
where  they  were  sitting,  in  irregular  cadences  of  sound,  now 
plainly  audible,  now  dying  away  completely  in  the  passage  from 
the  floor  above. 

Johns,  who  was  beginning  to  fear  that  his  absence  from  the 
drawing-room  might  be  remarked,  explained,  "That's  Senor 
Fernaflor,  whom  my  wife  enlisted  the  other  day  at  the  Duke 
of  Dorset's.  He's  a  prince  of  violinists.  I  suppose  we  must 
go  up  to  hear  him." 

"  As  you  wish,"  she  said,  listlessly. 

But  as  they  were  going  up  the  stairs,  he  whispered,  "Will 
you  come  and  see  us  often  ?" 

She  answered,  "What  would  be  the  use?" 

He  said,  "  Come  all  the  same,"  and  then,  stopping  suddenly 


to4  THE  ADVENTURES 

before  they  reached  the  last  stair,  he  murmured,  "  Promise  me 
that  you  will  consult  me  before  you  accept  another  man  ?" 

Again  she  answered,  "What  would  be  the  use?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can't  quite  say.  I  might  advise  you.  I 
scarcely  like  to  think.  But  promise  me,  I  entreat  you ; 
promise  me." 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "I  will." 

As  they  reached  the  door  the  violinist,  a  thin  man  with  a 
fine  thoughtful  face  surrounded  by  a  thick  mass  of  brown 
waving  hair,  had  just  finished  the  first  part  of  his  performance, 
and  was  bowing  to  acknowledge  the  applause  which  greeted 
him.  Johns  took  advantage  of  the  interval  to  conduct  Miss 
Douglas  to  her  father,  where  he  left  her. 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  moved  away 
from  them.     "What  a  wife  she  would  have  made  !" 

He  had  embarked  on  the  little  intrigue  from  his  natural 
liking  for  such  things,  from  a  real  admiration  for  the  beautiful 
young  girl,  and  in  obedience  to  his  principle  of  never  neglecting 
an  opportunity.  He  felt  regret  that  so  much  beauty  should  be 
beyond  his  reach,  and  also  a  vague  desire  to  speculate  upon  the 
future.  But  at  that  moment  he  was  recalled  to  a  sense  of  his 
host's  duties  by  his  wife,  who  was  making  him  a  sign  to  come 
to  her. 

As  he  reached  the  place  where  she  was  standing,  the 
violinist  resumed  his  playing.  Mrs.  Johns  whispered  in  his 
ear — 

"  Those  Dawsons  have  arrived,  John.  You  had  better  help 
me  to  speak  to  them." 

Suddenly,  as  he  looked  up,  he  saw  Dawson  and  his  wife  upon 
the  landing,  listening  to  the  performer. 

But  what  a  change  in  Lucy !  Instead  of  the  florid,  healthy 
blonde,  with  her  fresh  face  and  her  almost  girlish  look,  he  saw 
a  woman  with  drawn  pale  features  and  an  air  of  languor.  She 
was  standing  at  her  husband's  side,  listening  to  the  music,  and 
looking  down.  Her  hands  were  crossed  over  her  black  dress. 
Johns  thought,  "  Lucy  has  changed." 

The  Spanish  artist  was  playing  a  rhapsody  with  great  feeling 
and  expression,  and  the  whole  room  was  visibly  impressed. 
Johns  himself,  as  he  listened  to  the  rich  sounds  which  were 
being  given  out  with  masterly  precision,  muttered,  "  Poor  little 
Lucy,  how  thin  she's  looking  !" 

When  the  piece  and  the  prolonged  applause  which  it  elicited 
were  over,  Johns  advanced  to  receive  the  Dawsons,  and  to 
introduce  them  to  his  wife. 

As  he  shook  hands  with  Lucy  she  looked  away  from  him  and 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  105 

returned  his  greeting  with  a  mere  word.  Even  Dawson, 
apparently  impressed  by  the  splendour  of  his  ex-reporter,  seemed 
subdued.  The  two  ladies  spoke  together,  and  Johns  said  to 
Dawson — 

"  You've  often  received  me  at  your  house,  Dawson ;  now  I'm 
pleased  to  be  able  to  welcome  you  to  mine." 

"And  what  a  house !"  said  Dawson. 

Johns  smiled  complacently. 

"  Ah,"  said  Dawson,  "  we've  missed  you  in  the  Strand.  The 
man  who  followed  you  I  didn't  keep  a  month ;  and  the  present 
one — well,  I  won't  mention  him."  They  talked  about  the  paper 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Johns  whispered,  "Speak  to  my 
wife,  Dawson,  and  I'll  take  yours  down  to  the  refreshment 
room."  Johns  offered  his  arm  to  Lucy,  who  took  it  half- 
reluctantly,  and  they  went  down.  Neither  spoke.  When  they 
reached  the  room,  as  she  declared  she  would  take  nothing,  he 
led  her  to  the  small  conservatory  which  was  entered  from  the 
extreme  end,  and  which  was  lit  with  coloured  lamps. 

They  were  alone,  and  he  said  at  once,  "  It  was  good  of  you 
to  come  to-night." 

"  I  came,"  she  answered  as  if  with  an  effort,  "  to  please  my 
husband." 

"Only  for  that?"  he  said,  adding,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"you're  not  looking  well.     What  has  been  the  matter?" 

She  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  been  ill,  Lucy  ?    Tell  me !" 

She  answered,  "  Do  not  be  more  cruel  than  you've  already 
been !" 

"  Cruel  ?     Was  I  really  cruel  ?" 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  ask  that !" 

"  I  was  obliged  to  marry,  Lucy." 

"Were  you  obliged  to  deceive  two  women  at  the  same 
time?" 

"  There  were  circumstances  which  prevented  me  from  being 
frank." 

"Ah  yes,"  she  said  bitterly,  "men  say  those  things  !" 

"  Come,  come  Lucy,  this  will  never  do.  This  solemn  tone, 
these  sombre  looks !  You  must  forget  all  about  the  past  and 
think  only  of  the  present.  You  must  not  spoil  that  pretty  face 
by  melancholy." 

"  Yes,  you've  taught  me  to  be  callous.** 

"Lucy,  you're  mistaken.  I  acted  really  for  your  good,  as 
some  day  you'll  understand.  There  was  no  issue  from  the 
position  in  which  we  found  ourselves.  It  was  bound  to  come 
to  &n  end  some  day." 


ao6  THE  ADVENTURES 

"That,  then,  was  the  kind  of  love  you  had  for  me !" 

"Oh,  but,  Lucy,  all  that's  over  now !" 

"It  is  indeed!" 

"  And  perhaps  I  can  do  something  for  you.  I'm  able  now 
to  help  my  friends,  and  if  you  wanted  to  go  into  society,  for 
instance,  where  you  might  meet  someone  who  would  love  you 
more  than  you  imagine  I  did " 

But  she  interrupted  him — 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  much  !  I  have  loved  you  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul.  I've  dreamt  of  you,  I've  even  prayed  for  you.  I 
would  have  given  up  my  life  for  you,  and  you  talk  to  me  of 
another  man  !  I  don't  want  to  upbraid  you.  You  have  done 
what  your  inclination  made  you  do ;  you  have  followed  your 
ambition,  but  do  not  speak  to  me  of  a  second  treachery 
towards  my  husband,  who  was  so  good  and  kind  to  me  when 
I  was  ill." 

"  Have  you  been  ill,  Lucy  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  ill ;  but  do  not  let  us  talk  of  that.  I'm  better 
now,  and  all  I  desire  is  to  make  the  man  who  loves  me  happy." 

He  looked  at  her  attentively.  Her  face  was  so  intensely 
sorrowful  that  suddenly  he  grew  serious  himself. 

"  And  do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "  that  I^tn  completely 
happy  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  all  that  should  make  you  so  ?  " 

"  It  would  seem  so,"  he  said,  meditatively,  with  a  sigh.  "  But 
it  doesn't  matter  about  me.  I  am  of  the  more  common  clay, 
a  servant  of  ambition.  I  can  only  live  as  long  as  I  can  climb, 
and  if  there  were  nothing  left  to  climb  for,  I  could  not  go  on 
living.  Don't  regret  me,  Lucy,  I  wouldn't  have  made  you 
happy." 

"  You're  a  strange  man  ! " 

"  I  am,  Lucy,  I  am ;  but  you  must  forget  all  about  me  and 
my  strangeness." 

"Ah!  if  I  only  could  1 " 

"  You  can  do  it,  Lucy,  if  you  try.  All  women  can.  What, 
after  all,  is  this  love  but  an  illusion  of  the  senses,  a  matter  of 
chance  and  circumstance,  of  time  and  latitude  and  opportunity? 
The  lovers  of  to-day,  for  all  their  youth  and  ardour,  are  the  old 
men  and  women  of  to-morrow  1  We  are  all  of  us  undergoing 
change.  It's  not  a  year  since  you  quitted  me  that  afternoon  in 
Jermyn  Street,  and  yet  we  are  both  changed  already.  We  could 
no  longer,  if  we  wished,  love  with  the  same  feelings  as  before. 
Time  has  already  altered  us.  Love  is  of  the  present — of  the 
present  only.  Think  of  the  countless  couples  who  marry  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  brief  moment  of  delusive  passion.    All  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  ao; 

world  is  love  for  them.  Nothing  else  exists !  And  yet  in  a 
few  short  years  they  have  settled  down  to  a  vulgar  life  of 
egoism,  and  their  love  has  cooled  into  a  mere  feeling  of  con- 
jugal companionship.  Sometimes  it  has  changed  to  enmity. 
We  are  all  the  sport  of  chance  !  What  do  you  think  that 
room-full  of  people  up  above  are  doing?  They  are  existing 
merely  for  the  pleasures  of  the  hour.  Some  have  not  yet 
experienced  love ;  some  are  tasting  its  delights.  For  others  it 
is  a  mere  memory.  But  all  are  living  on  the  solace  of  some 
present  pleasure,  well  knowing  that  present  pleasures  are  the 
only  ones  that  count.  Lucy,  there's  a  law  in  nature  which 
makes  us  hedonists — all  hedonists  ! " 

She  said,  "  How  different  our  natures  are  !  You  little  know 
a  woman's  heart." 

Johns  thought,  "I  do,  though";  and  he  answered,  "No, 
Lucy,  I'm  afraid  I  don't." 

By  this  time  he  had  satisfied  his  curiosity.  He  had  felt  her 
pulse,  and  had  poured  what  little  balm  he  could  upon  her 
troubled  feelings,  and  now  he  was  getting  tired.  There  wasn't 
enough  variety  in  Lucy.  She  was  too  much  of  a  piece.  The 
best  thing  she  could  do  was  to  go  on  consoling  Dawson.  That 
was  in  reality  the  part  she  was  fitted  for,  and  it  was  weak  of 
him  to  waste  philosophy  upon  her.  She  had  had  a  shock,  no 
doubt,  but  she  would  easily  recover  now.  There  were  no  such 
things  as  broken  hearts  except  in  the  imagination  of  the  senti- 
mental novelist. 

"Well  then,  Lucy,"  he  said,  "it's  understood.  You're  going 
to  be  reasonable;  you're  going  to  devote  yourself  to  that 
estimable  man  your  husband.  In  a  few  years  you'll  tell  me 
that  everything  has  happened  for  the  best,  and  that  you're  very 
happy." 

"  In  a  few  years  !"  she  repeated  slowly.  "Ah,  yes,  in  a  few 
years  1 " 

"  And  now,"  said  Johns,  rising,  "  we  had  better  perhaps  go 
back." 

She  rose  at  once.  He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  they  returned 
in  silence. 

Mrs.  Johns,  as  they  entered  the  room  together,  gave  them  a 
sharp,  somewhat  suspicious  glance,  which  Johns  did  not  fail  to 
notice. 

Leaving  Mrs.  Dawson,  therefore,  with  her  husband,  whom  he 
discovered  speaking  to  an  acquaintance,  he  returned  to  his 
wife's  side. 

"  Oh,  John,  everybody  is  asking  for  you.  How  long  you've 
been  I" 


so8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

And  Johns,  who  had  by  this  time  satisfied  all  his  curiosity, 
and  who  was  now  disposed  to  enter  heartily  into  his  duties  of 
host,  replied,"!  couldn't  get  rid  of  that  Mrs.  Dawson,  but  now 
I'm  at  your  service." 

The  evening  progressed  brilliantly,  and  the  violinist  was  twice 
again  applauded.  The  room  was  animated,  the  reception  was 
successful.  The  guests  seemed  pleased  to  find  themselves 
together  under  the  Johns's  roof. 

Johns  occupied  the  remainder  of  the  time  in  chatting  with 
them,  and  he  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  the  merest  witticism 
he  made,  was  received  with  twice  the  favour  it  deserved. 

"  What  sheep  they  are  !"  he  thought  again,  and  as  he  moved 
about  the  room,  greeted  by  smiles  and  compliments,  he  felt  as 
he  fancied  Napoleon  must  have  felt  when  the  women  waited 
for  him  in  the  corridors  and  the  men  coveted  his  merest 
word. 

"  How  they  worship  their  God — success  ! "  he  thought,  as  he 
stood  amongst  the  bevy  of  bare,  sparkling  necks  and  listened  to 
fair  literary  aspirants,  distributing  the  while  encouragements 
and  smiles. 

When  it  was  all  over,  when  the  last  couple  had  departed  and 
the  last  leave-taking  over,  Johns  and  his  wife  were  left  alone  in 
die  great  empty  drawing-room. 

Leaning  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  with  her  eyes 
half  closed,  she  murmured — 

"  Oh  my  darling  Johnnie,  how  proud  I  was  of  you  to-night. 
How  well  you  looked  and  spoke.  If  you  had  been  bom  a 
prince  you  could  not  have  seemed  more  princely ! " 

Then,  placing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  drew  his 
face  towards  her  and  kissed  him  gently  on  his  eyelids. 


CHAPTER 
FOURTEENTH 

THE  season  was  drawing  to  its  close.  The  series  of  receptioM 
which  the  Johns  had  given  had  been  entirely  successful, 
and  the  newly-married  couple  had  continued  to  mount  so  rapidly 
the  social  ladder,  that  Mrs.  Johns  herself,  whose  circle  of 
acquaintances  had  been  singularly  enlarged  by  the  attraction 
which  her  husband  exercised,  had  been  surprised.  Although 
Johns  took  very  little  trouble  now  to  court  society,  he  was 
always  in  demand,  and  hostesses  considered  themselves 
fortunate  when  they  had  been  able  to  secure  him.  They  even 
pardoned  him  his  rudeness  in  failing  to  appear  when  a  superior 
interest  prevented  him. 

One  afternoon,  however,  in  the  middle  of  July,  the  Stanfields, 
St.  George,  and  a  few  intimate  friends  had  been  lunching  at 
Grosvenor  Place,  and  were  sitting  chatting  in  the  drawing-room. 
Johns,  who  had  partaken  freely  of  his  own  champagne  at  lun- 
cheon, was  in  one  of  his  expansive  moods.  He  was  describing  to 
his  guests  the  visit  he  had  had  the  previous  day.  A  man  had 
come  to  him  with  an  introduction  from  a  friend,  and  had  wished 
to  write  in  his  Review  to  prove  that  the  curse  from  which  the 
nation  suffered  was  the  hereditary  Chamber,  which  stifled 
progress  and  imposed  upon  the  people  the  will  of  a  degenerated 
aristocracy  whose  minds  and  bodies  were  alike  corrupt.  And 
Johns  applied  himself  to  show  that  the  mainstay  of  the  nation 
was  the  caste  which  had  made  it  great,  the  caste  whose  moral 
influence  was  still  enormous,  the  caste  which  in  reality  was  the 
greatest  friend  of  progress. 

His  guests  were  naturally  of  his  opinion. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  at  school,"  Johns  commenced 

"  At    Harrow,"    Mrs.    Johns    explained,    drawing    on    hex 
imagination  for  the  benefit  of  those  prtneot. 
p 


aio  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  I  remember,"  continued  Johns,  without  taking  any  notice 
of  his  wife's  eluciaation,  "  the  son  of  a  commoner  who  used  to 
preach  democracy  as  he  had  learned  it  from  his  father " 

But  he  had  scarcely  pronounced  the  last  word  when  the  door 
was  opened  and  a  servant  entered. 

"  Mr.  David  Johns  has  called  to  see  you,  sir." 

Johns  stopped  short  and  turned  at  once  towards  the  man  who 
brought  him  so  extraordinary  a  piece  of  information. 

"  Mr.  who  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Mr.  David  Johns,  sir.    I  told  him  you  were  engaged,  but — 

he  says  he  is  your  father,  sir,  from I  didn't  catch  the 

name,  sir." 

The  man,  whom  Johns  had  found  wanting  in  intelligence  and 
who  was  about  to  leave,  spoke  loudly  enough  for  everyone  to 
hear. 

The  Stanfields  and  the  other  guests  looked  up  at  once,  while 
Mrs.  Johns  grew  serious. 

Johns,  who  thought  his  father  safely  at  St.  Martin,  was  com- 
pletely taken  by  surprise.  Quickly  he  realized  that  he  could 
not  refuse  to  see  his  father.  Yet  it  was  impossible  to  ask  him 
in.  In  his  embarrassment,  he  hit  upon  the  expedient  of  going 
down  to  see  him. 

Excusing  himself,  therefore,  to  his  guests,  he  hurried  to  the 
door.  But  he  had  no  sooner  opened  it,  than  he  found  his 
father  waiting  on  the  threshold.  The  elder  Johns  was  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  with  a  round  face  the  upper  lip  of  which  was 
shaved.  He  wore  whiskers  that  curled  like  short  crisp  waves 
on  a  sea-shore,  and  stretched  from  ear  to  ear,  passing  beneath 
the  chin.  His  little  peering  eyes  stood  out  in  relief  upon  the 
weather-reddened  skin,  and  his  reddish  curly  locks,  which 
were  becoming  white  in  patches,  although  he  scarcely  seemed 
more  than  fifty,  completed  an  essentially  seafaring  counte- 
nance. He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  black  glossy  cloth,  the  vest 
of  which  was  adorned  by  a  thick  watch-chain  of  pale  gold. 
In  his  brown  freckled  hand  he  was  holding  a  round  and 
soft  felt  hat. 

He  had  followed  the  man  upstairs  and  was  standing  on 
the  landing  looking  about  him  at  the  vastness  of  the  place, 
apparently  abashed  at  his  temerity. 

"  Well,  John,  my  boy,  'ow  arr  you  ?  You're  surprised  to  see 
me,  but  you  know  there  was  an  excursion  from  St.  Peter's  Port, 
and  the  missis  said " 

But  in  the  middle  of  his  speech  he  suddenly  perceived  the 
majestic  drawing-room  in  the  background  with  its  velvet 
hangings,  its  air  of  greatness,  and  in  it  the  group  of  giwsts  who 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  «ii 

were  looking  towards  the  door  with  faces  of  amused  wonder- 
ment.    Abruptly  he  ceased  speaking. 

Johns,  who  felt  himself  between  two  fires,  and  who  realized 
intensely  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation,  paused  a  moment 
to  collect  his  thoughts  after  pressing  his  father's  hard '  brown 
hand.  He  knew  that  it  had  been  given  out  industriously  by 
his  wife  that  his  father  was  a  gentleman  who  never  left  his 
property  in  Guernsey,  and  this  apparition  of  the  old  mariner 
was  therefore  doubly  disagreeable. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  much  reflection.  Everybody  in 
the  room  had  heard  and  seen.  It  would  look  worse  now  to  try 
to  hide  his  sire  than  to  produce  him.  He  would  produce  him. 
He  was  strong  enough  to  do  so  now,  and  it  would  be  amusing 
to  force  the  old  man  upon  them.  If  they  came  to  his  house, 
the  silly  fools,  they  must  take  it  as  they  found  it. 

Having  arrived  at  this  determination,  he  said,  loudly  enough 
for  all  to  hear,  "  Come  in,  father." 

But  the  elder  Johns  remained  upon  the  landing  hesitating, 
glancing  alternately  at  Johns  and  at  the  guests,  uncertain  what 
to  do. 

Johns,  seeing  his  embarrassment,  encouraged  him. 

"  Come  along,  father,  it's  all  right." 

Slowly,  then,  the  old  man  followed  his  son  into  the  room. 

As  they  were  advancing,  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Johns's  face 
would  have  formed  a  study  for  a  physiognomist.  Fear,  offended 
pride,  humiliation,  were  all  depicted  on  her  countenance,  which 
had  become  as  red  as  the  silk  bodice  she  was  wearing. 

Johns,  who  by  this  time  had  quite  regained  composure, 
assumed  his  most  Napoleonic  attitude,  and,  designating  his 
father  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  addressed  his  wife. 

"  This,  Rose,  is  my  father,  whom  you  have  not  yet  seen,  and 
who  has  wished  to  give  us  a  surprise." 

Then,  turning  to  the  old  mariner,  he  said — 

"Father,  this  lady  is  my  wife." 

The  old  man  timidly  held  out  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Johns. 

"  Good  afternoon,  ma'm." 

Mrs.  Johns  gave  him  the  tips  of  her  fingers  without  replying. 

But  Johns,  taking  no  notice  of  his  wife's  evident  disgust,  now 
introduced  his  father  to  the  other  guests,  and  to  each  of  them 
the  old  man  said,  "  'ow  arr  you,  sir,"  or  "  I  'ope  you  arr  quite 
well,  ma'm."  When,  however,  it  came  to  the  Stanfields'  turn, 
and  Johns  said,  "Lady  Stanfield,  Lord  Stanfield,  let  me 
introduce  my  father  who  has  just  come  from  Guernsey,"  the 
old  man  looked  bewildered.  Never  having  been  in  the  presence 
of  nobility  before,  he  fumbled   nervously  with  his  hat,  and 


SIS  THE  ADVENTURES 

finally  made  a  species  of  obeisance  which  raised  a  smile  on  the 
lips  of  Lord  Stanfield  and  his  wife. 

"  I'm  pleased  to  see  you,  sir,"  Lord  Stanfield  said,  with  an 
amused  expression,  which  further  disconcerted  the  old  mariner, 
and  then,  addressing  Johns  with  an  almost  imperceptible  touch 
of  irony,  "  I  didn't  know,  Johns,  that  your  father  was  so  hale 
and  hearty." 

But  Johns,  unwilling  to  be  outdone,  replied — 
"  My  father  has  a  constitution  of  iron,  Lord  Stanfield;  neither 
heat  nor  cold  affects  it.  I  have  seen  him  lie  on  the  deck  of  his 
boat  at  night  in  mid-winter  with  nothing  but  an  oilskin  over 
him  to  protect  him  from  the  cold.  I  have  seen  him  remain 
a  whole  night  at  the  helm  when  the  wind  was  blowing  in  a 
hurricane,  and  the  waves  were  soaring  as  high  as  mountains. 
In  the  whole  island  there  isn't  a  man  so  hardy.  Shall  I  tell 
you  a  story  which  his  modesty  prefers  to  hide?  One  night, 
which  is  still  fresh  in  my  memory,  although  I  was  then  a  lad,  a 
terrific  storm  burst  upon  our  coast.  It  wasn't  a  mere  gale  of 
wind,  but  one  of  those  hurricanes  which  carry  all  before 
them.  Suddenly  it  was  rumoured  that  a  ship  was  in  the  bay 
struggling  in  the  dark  heaving  mass  of  water.  The  whole 
parish  gathered  on  the  beach,  and  soon  we  saw  a  rocket  dart 
into  the  inky  sky.  There  was  no  doubt  then.  A  ship  was 
there,  and  in  distress.  But  who  could  render  her  assistance 
on  such  a  night?  The  men  who  were  accustomed  to  man 
the  life -boat  looked  at  the  night,  and  shook  their  heads ! 
They  couldn't  go !  It  was  nothing  short  of  madness  to 
attempt  it.  It  was  risking  their  lives  in  vain,  they  said. 
No,  it  could  not  be  done.  My  father  then  appeared  among 
them.  He  listened  a  moment  to  their  talk,  and  then  he  said, 
•We  must  do  that  job,  boys,'  and  he  persuaded  them  to  do  it  1 
They  got  the  boat  and  manned  her,  and  my  father  took  the 
helm.  The  first  push  was  unsuccessful :  the  boat  was  filled  by 
the  huge  crashing  waves.  They  tried  again  and  yet  again  until 
at  length  she  was  launched  on  the  mad  sea.  Then  they  rowed 
as  galley  slaves  have  never  rowed.  Ah,  how  they  rowed !  And 
my  father  cheered  and  steered  them,  although  his  voice  was 
often  drowned  in  the  great  roar.  The  rockets  continued  to 
ascend.  The  ship  was  drifting  rapidly  towards  them,  but  the 
battle  with  the  waves  was  terrible.  The  boat  was  like  an  ant 
trying  to  fight  an  elephant.  All  on  shore  were  certain  she 
must  be  destroyed.  It  was  so  dark,  so  wild !  But  suddenly 
the  moon  came  out  from  behind  a  bank  of  clouds  just  as 
they  reached  the  ship,  and  they  were  able,  after  a  struggle 
as  heroic  as  an  epic  combat,  as  fierce  as  a  death  duel,  to 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  a  13 

rescue,  how  many  do  you  think?  to  rescue  fifteen  of  the 
crew ! " 

A  murmur  of  admiration  greeted  this  anecdote,  and  Mr. 
David  Johns,  surprised  at  the  praise  which  was  being  bestowed 
upon  him  by  his  son  for  an  act  which  he  had  well-nigh  for- 
gotten, was  more  confused  than  ever.  St.  George,  however, 
out  of  friendship  for  his  son,  endeavoured  to  encourage  the 
old  man  by  asking  him  a  question. 

"  Do  you  get  many  such  storms,  Mr.  Johns  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  old  man,  so  questioned,  and  finding  himself  entirely  in 
his  element,  replied — 

"Well,  not  often  such  as  that,  sir,  but  it  do  blow  'ard  in  the 
winter  time.  I've  seen  as  many  as  three  ships  ashore  one 
Christmas." 

The  guests  looked  at  each  other  and  agreed  that  that  was 
a  great  many. 

Mrs.  Johns  maintained  a  rigid  silence. 

"Take  a  seat,  father,"  Johns  said,  noticing  that  his  father 
remained  standing. 

The  elder  Johns  turned  and  looked  at  several  vacant  chairs, 
but  no  doubt  thinking  them  too  gorgeous  with  their  gilt  and 
their  crimson  velvet,  he  chose  a  kind  of  stool  of  inlaid  oriental 
make,  and  slowly  lowered  himself  into  it,  as  if  doubtful  if  it 
would  bear  his  weight.  As  it  was  very  low,  and  as  his  legs 
were  short  and  thick,  he  had  a  doubled-up  appearance  which 
added  nothing  to  his  dignity. 

But  the  conversation,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  his 
arrival,  now  continued  on  other  topics,  and  he  became  a  listener. 

A  fair  young  man,  with  a  blank  ugly  face  and  an  exceed- 
ingly high  collar,  whom  Johns  invited  because  he  was  known 
to  be  phenomenally  rich  (the  possession  of  great  wealth  placed 
a  man,  Johns  thought,  on  a  kind  of  level  with  intelligences 
higher  than  his  own),  began  to  relate  to  Lord  Stanfield  a 
carriage  accident  he  had  had  a  few  days  previously.  Johns 
and  St.  George  chatted  about  art.  David  Johns  and  his 
daughter-in-law  were  silent. 

Thus  the  time  was  reached  when  luncheon  parties  which 
have  extended  far  into  the  afternoon  break  up. 

Lady  Stanfield  was  the  first  to  rise,  and  the  others  followed 
her  example. 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  all  left.  Mrs.  Johns  had  dis- 
appeared, and  the  father  and  son  were  alone  together. 

Johns  said,  *'  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  dad,  but  you  should  have 
written  that  you  were  coming.  My  wife,  you  know,  is  a  big 
swell,  and  doesn't  like  to  be  surprised — swells  don't." 


a  14  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  I  didn't  know,  Johnnie.  It  was  the  missis  made  me  come 
on  that  excursion  boat.     I  didn't  want  to,  Lord  knows." 

"  When  does  it  return,  dad  ?  " 

"  In  fourr  days." 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  Johnnie,  it  was  very  late  when  we  got  to 
London,  and  some  of  'em  were  going  to  the  Cooper's  Arms — 
that's  over  by  the  station — so  I  went  along  with  'em." 

The  old  man  spoke  slowly  and  with  hesitation,  in  a  kind 
of  half  French  accent.  He  looked  down  most  of  the  time, 
seeming  timid  in  the  presence  of  his  son. 

"  And  how  are  you  off  for  coin,  dad  ?  " 

"  I've  lots  of  that^  Johnnie,  thanks  to  you,  my  boy." 

"  And  how  are  mother  and  cousin  Kate  ?  " 

"  The  missis  has  had  rheumatics,  but  Katie's  very  well." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  his  son  all  the  village  news,  the 
marriage  of  Peter  Luce,  and  the  death  of  John  Lebas,  men- 
tioning a  host  of  names  half  English  and  half  French,  which 
Johns  remembered  hazily,  and  speaking  in  English,  either 
because  he  guessed  that  his  son  had  forgotten  the  Guernsey 
patois,  or  because,  being  in  reality  of  Welsh  origin  as  his  name 
implied,  the  English  tongue  was  equally  familiar  to  him. 

When  he  had  finished,  Johns  said,  calmly,  "  Well,  now,  dad, 
I  must  go  out.  I'll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow  at  the 
Cooper's  Arms  to  take  you  out  to  dinner.  But  look  here 
dad,  don't  come  here  again.  The  missis  mightn't  like  it.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"All  right,  my  boy,  don't  mind  me.  I  won't  trouble  the 
good  lady." 

Johns  led  his  father  to  the  front  door,  and  they  parted,  after 
agreeing  to  meet  again  next  day. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  his  wife  was 
now  awaiting  him.  Immediately,  as  he  glanced  at  her  face, 
he  saw  that  she  was  in  high  dudgeon.  He  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  glum. 

Preparing  himself  for  a  contest  which  seemed  inevitable,  he 
took  a  seat  and  waited  for  her  to  commence.  She  was  not 
long  in  doing  so. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  before  our  marriage  it  was  agreed  that 
your  family  should  never  come  here,  and  yet  just  now,  when 
your  father  appeared  upon  that  landing  in  an  incomprehensible 
kind  of  way,  you  actually  brought  him  in,  and  introduced  him 
to  our  friends.  I  have  never  felt  so  frightfully  ridiculous 
before.  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  we  gave  out  he  was  a 
country  gentleman,  and  yet,  in  the  face  of  that,  you  delibe- 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  115 

rately  tell  everybody  that  he  is  a — a  seafaring  person.     It's 
monstrous.     I  shall  never  recover  the  humiliation ! " 

Johns,  who  was  rather  in  a  bad  humour  himself  at  what  had 
happened,  answered  rather  sharply,  *'  It  was  the  fault  of  that 
fool,  James.  What  was  I  to  do,  I  should  like  to  know,  when 
he  said,  before  everybody,  that  he  was  my  father  ?  " 

"  You  should  have  said  he  wasn't  and  refused  to  see  him,  or 
something  of  the  sort.  Anything,  I  should  think,  would  be 
better  than  making  your  wife  ridiculous  !  " 

Vexed  at  the  tone  she  had  suddenly  adopted,  he  replied, 
••  I  did  what  occurred  to  me  to  do,  and  after  all  it  wasn't  so 
very  terrible." 

'*  It  was  a  perfect  scandal !  You  had  no  right  to  bring  sucb 
a  person  here." 

*  Johns  was  stung  to  the  quick  this  time.  His  father  was  his 
father,  and  if  he  chose  to  acknowledge  him,  by  God  his  friends 
must  accept  him,  and  his  wife  too  ! 

He  said,  **  Is  that  the  first  scandal,  Rose,  in  which  you  have 
been  concerned  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  angrily.  "  What  do  you 
insinuate  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  particular ;  only  I've  been  accustomed  to  think 
that  one  scandal  is  as  good  or  as  bad  as  another,  that's  all." 

"  Oh  ! "  she  muttered,  I  didn't  expect  that  of  you  ! " 

He  answered,  "  Everything  is  to  be  expected  from  every- 
body." 

"  It  seems  so,  indeed  !" 

Presently  she  added,  "After  what  has  happened  I  should 
think  you  would  see  the  necessity  of  our  going  away  from 
London  for  a  time." 

"  I  see  no  such  necessity,  and  I  don't  intend  to  go." 

"  Ah,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I'm  beginning  to  think  I  didn't 
know  you." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered,  carelessly.  "  As  for  my  father, 
whom  you  are  pleased  to  call  a  seafaring  person,  I  may  tell  you 
that  he  won't  come  here  again.  I  shall  lunch  with  him  at  a 
restaurant  to-morrow." 

Saying  this,  to  put  an  end  to  the  discussion  he  rose  and  left 
the  room  with  a  decided  step. 

This  was  their  first  quarrel  of  any  gravity.  They  had  had 
some  little  scenes  of  jealousy  at  different  times,  when  Johns  had 
been  too  attentive  to  his  wife's  lady  friends,  but  they  had  led  to 
nothing  since  there  was  nothing  to  be  discovered  in  that 
direction. 


ai6  THE  ADVENTURES 

But  this  time  Mrs.  Johns  had  been  deeply  wounded  in  her 
pride  of  caste,  and  for  some  time  afterwards,  although  she  had 
not  reverted  to  the  old  man's  visit,  she  was  colder  towards  her 
husband,  less  demonstrative  in  the  cult  which  she  professed 
for  him.  Frequently  a  troubled,  almost  sorrowful  expression 
would  cross  her  face,  and  she  would  look  at  Johns  as  he  sat 
opposite  to  her  at  table. 

Johns,  who  wished  to  commence  asserting  his  independence, 
did  nothing  to  restore  her  peace  of  mind.  He  regarded  the 
visit  of  his  father  as  a  fortunate  event,  since  it  had  caused  the 
exact  measure  of  estrangement  between  his  wife  and  him, 
which  he  found  necessary  to  his  own  comfort,  and  which  he 
was  quite  resolved  to  endeavour  to  maintain. 

It  was  so  delightful  now,  to  indulge  his  Uking  for  Mrs.  Weber 
to  its  full  extent  without  having  to  render  an  account  of  the 
hours  which  he  spent  while  doing  so — the  happiest  in  his 
existence,  and  so  different  from  those  conjugal  moments  which 
he  considered  as  official  or  as  a  tax  that  he  had  to  pay  for  the 
position  he  had  reached.  As  long  as  his  wife  would  be  satisfied 
with  the  present  state  of  things,  they  might  go  on  living 
pleasantly  together,  for,  after  all,  she  was  a  necessary  factor  in 
his  life,  and  she  gave  him  a  social  status  which  he  would  not 
care  to  lose,  even  in  order  to  gain  his  hberty. 

He  made  it  a  rule,  also,  to  be  excessively  polite  to  her,  and 
to  speak  well  of  her  before  strangers.  So  that,  when  Mrs. 
Weber  would  jestingly  allude  to  "his  antiquity,"  he  would 
merely  remark  gravely  that  Mrs.  Johns  was  very  well  preserved, 
and  he  would  refrain  from  joining  in  the  laugh  which  greeted 
this  description  of  his  helpmate.  "She's  not  an  Ellen,"  he 
would  say,  "  but  she's  Mrs.  Johns,  and  there's  no  getting  over 
that." 

And  she  would  answer,  "  And  I,  who  am  an  Ellen,  am  not 
Mrs.  Johns  !  "  and  as  that  was  equally  undeniable,  Johns  would 
content  himself  with  smiling. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  become  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
house  of  Colonel  Douglas  in  Lexham  Gardens.  On  Sunday 
afternoons  he  would  spend  an  hour  there,  taking,  as  he  called 
it,  a  bath  of  freshness  in  the  beauty  of  the  Colonel's  daughter. 
These  visits  afforded  him  a  weekly  taste  of  pure  idealism,  of  a 
different,  more  interesting  feeling,  in  a  sense,  to  that  which  he 
experienced  in  the  society  of  Mrs.  Weber,  and  they  were 
undoubtedly  a  great  relief  from  the  companionship  of  Mrs. 
Johns.  He  would  keep  some  of  his  best  anecdotes  for  the 
young  girl,  and,  when  with  her,  would  exert  himself  to  be 
particularly  brilliant.     As  his  wife  never  came  with  him,  pre- 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  «i7 

ferring  to  remain  at  home  to  receive  her  friends  on  Sundays,  he 
was  the  more  free.  Thus  an  intimacy  grew  up  between  them 
which  increased  as  the  months  went  by,  and,  faithful  to  his 
combative  instincts,  Johns  would  make  a  point  of  being  dis- 
agreeable to  the  aspirants  (and  they  were  many)  for  the  young 
girl's  hand,  defeating  them  in  argument,  using  against  them  the 
power  of  words  which  he  now  possessed,  to  their  discomfiture, 
so  that  they  went  out  vowing  that  he  was  the  worst  cad  they 
had  ever  met,  and  strongly  regretful  that  duels  had  been 
abolishea  in  this  country. 

Colonel  Francis  Douglas,  her  father,  was  a  retired  engineer 
who  had  left  the  service  with  the  rank  of  captain  after  inheriting 
a  little  fortune,  which  permitted  him  to  live  in  moderate  ease 
and  comfort.  His  wife  had  died  a  few  years  before  Johns's 
marriage.  His  only  son  had  been  killed  in  Africa,  and  Edith 
Douglas  was  now  his  only  child.  He  allowed  his  daughter  a 
certain  amount  of  liberty,  but  as  he  was  adverse  to  the  modern 
notions  of  emancipation  for  unmarried  women,  he  generally 
accompanied  her  when  she  went  into  society.  Several  times, 
incited  by  her  beauty,  Johns  had  hinted  at  a  meeting  in  a 
church  or  picture  gallery,  for  the  sake  of  music  or  of  art,  but 
each  time  she  had  told  him  that  it  was  impossible.  And  her 
mability  or  unwillingness  only  served  to  whet  his  appetite. 
She  was  the  first  woman  he  had  met  who  took  the  kind  of 
interest  in  him  he  liked — a  sensible,  consistent  interest  which 
never  flagged,  which  could  not  fail  to  be  sincere,  since  not  only 
he  could  not  wed  her,  but  he  was  really  standing  in  the  way  of 
her  matrimonial  prospects. 

He  loved  her  youth  and  her  girlish  ways,  and  he  recognized 
in  her  a  bright  intelligence,  perceptions  quite  beyond  her  years. 
What  a  wife  she  would  have  made !  Ah,  if  Rose,  by  some 
enchantment,  could  be  transformed  into  such  an  Edith  I 

One  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  end  of  July  he  was  with  her 
in  Lexham  Gardens.  The  father  had  left  the  drawing-room 
to  show  an  old  friend  of  his  his  trophies.  Edith  and  Johns 
were  left  alone  together. 

"  And  so,"  he  said,  "  you're  going  off  to  Switzerland ! " 

"  Yes,  but  why  that  solemn  tone  ?  " 

"  Each  time  you  go  away,  I  think  of  you  so  often !  1 
imagine  that  you  are  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  admirers,  and 
that  one  perhaps  will  carry  off  the  prize ! " 

"  Have  not  I  promised  to  let  you  know  before  that  happens  ?  " 

"  You  have,  you  have,  I  know,  and  yet  I  dread  to  receive  a 
letter  telling  me  that  the  time  has  come  for  you  to  make  a 
choice.     I  scarcely  Uke  to  think  what  I  shall  answer  1 " 


«i8  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  You  had  better  wait  until  the  day  arrives,"  she  said,  witk  a 
little  laugh. 

"  Ah,  but  it  will  come.     It  cannot  always  be  delayed." 

"  It  may.     I  have  no  wish  to  marry  unless Must  I 

tell  you  ?  " 

'*  I  entreat  you." 

"  Unless  I  meet  someone  who  resembles  you." 

He  cried  with  rapture,  "  I  feel  Uke  a  man  who  has  suddenly 
been  saved  from  drowning,  who  has  suddenly  been  brought 
back  to  life !  Ah,  why  is  there  that  cruel  bar  between  us  ? 
True,  the  time  may  come  when  I  shall  be  free ;  but  years  may 
then  have  passed,  and  we  shall  both  have  entered  deeper  into 
the  cave  of  Hfe.  It  is  now  when  we  are  in  the  full  possession, 
of  divine  youth,  when  we  are,  as  the  poet  says,  in  the  aurora  oif 
existence,  that  we  should  taste  the  ineffable  delight  of  love. 
Forgive  me  if  I  speak  like  this,  but  I  know  that  with  you  I 
may  be  frank." 

"  You  must  not,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  make  love  to 
me.  You  must  wait,  Mr.  Johns,  you  must  wait  with  a  great 
deal  of  patience.  You  may  think  me  very  visionary;  but  I 
have  a  kind  of  presentiment  that  if  we  wait  we  shall  be 
rewarded." 

She  seemed  perfectly  collected  as  she  sat  there  facing  him  in 
the  declining  light  of  the  afternoon,  and  she  appeared  to  him  so 
perfectly,  so  overwhelmingly  ideal,  so  absolutely  beautiful,  that 
with  difficulty  he  restrained  himself  from  rising  to  seize  her  in 
his  arms. 

"You  are,"  he  said,  in  an  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  "the  most 
marvellous  expression,  the  most  perfect  incarnation  I  have  ever 
met  of  all  that  is  bright  and  sweet  and  lovable.  Oh,  if  I  said 
all  that  I  have  at  heart  to  say !  But  no,  I  must  not,  I  must  go 
on  Uving  with  your  image  stamped  indelibly  upon  my  mind 
and  heart." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "with  me  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  quite  so 
enthusiastic,  although  of  course  it's  very  kind  of  you.  Yes,  I 
will  confess  I  like  you  for  your  brilliancy  and  pluck,  and  I  want 
to  see  you  rise  to  the  height  of  your  ambition.  You  will  always 
find  a  sympathizer  in  me — always." 

"By  God !"  he  said,  in  his  bluff  way,  "with  you  I  could  have 
gained  an  empire !" 

At  that  moment  her  handkerchief  fell  from  her  lap  upon 
the  floor,  and  before  she  had  time  to  stoop  to  pick  it  up,  he 
sprang  upon  it  with  a  sudden  bound. 

"  Oh,  let  me  keep  it,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  pressed  it  to  his 
lips;  "let  me  have  it  with  me  always  as  a  souvenir  of  you  ! " 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  tig 

"  You  may  have  it  if  you  like,  but  I  warn  you  I  don't  care 
for  you  in  a  sentimental  vein." 

Johns  was  not  abashed.  He  knew  women  well  enough,  he 
thought,  to  know  that  no  admiration,  homage,  no  matter  how 
excessive,  was  ever  really  uncongenial  to  them.  This  girl 
might  be  one  of  those  rare  exceptions  which  are  sometimes 
heard  of  but  never  met,  yet  he  didn't  think  so,  and  he  continued 
to  pour  out  the  hyperbolic  phrases  which  flowed  from  his  lips 
so  readily,  until  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the 
Colonel.  Then,  after  a  few  words  with  the  old  engineer,  he 
left,  saying  good-bye  until  the  winter. 

When  the  time  arrived  for  leaving  town,  Johns  and  his  wife 
had  a  serious  discussion. 

Johns  suggested  Switzerland,  but  immediately  she  said,  ill- 
humouredly,  '  I  will  not  go  to  Switzerland." 

"  May  I  know  why  ?  " 

"  I  have  my  reasons." 

Johns  bit  his  lip,  thinking,  •*  She's  jealous  now  of  Edith." 

He  said,  "  Then  where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  Bath,  where  I  want  to  take  the  waters." 

Johns  answered,  "  Then  I'm  afraid,  my  dear  Rose,  I 
shan't  be  able  to  accompany  you.  I  would  die  of  ennui  in 
a  week." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "a  year  ago  you  wouldn't  have 
talked  of  ennui." 

"  Probably  not,  but  honeymoons  cannot  last  for  ever.  There 
must  be  reason  in  all  things.  We  cannot  be  always  as  young 
doves." 

As  he  said  this  he  glanced  at  his  wife's  face,  and  scarcely 
repressed  a  smile  as  he  noticed  the  skin  which  shone  in  some 
places  with  the  shine  of  maturity,  and  the  furrows  which  endless 
massage  had  been  unable  to  remove. 

"  You  lose  no  opportunity  of  reminding  me  of  it,"  she  said. 

"  My  dear  Rose,  one  must  think  of  these  things." 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that  if  I  go  to  Bath  you  will  not  come?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Yes,  now  I'm  beginning  to  understand  you !  You're  acting 
just  as  I  might  have  expected  a  man  like  you  would  act." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  man  like  me  ?  " 

"  I  mean  a  man  of  your — well,  since  you  must  have  it — a 
man  of  your  class,  you  know." 

Johns,  who  had  been  leaning  against  the  mantel,  drew  himself 
up  with  great  dignity.  It  was  time,  he  thought,  to  assert  himself. 
This  time  he  would  bid  for  his  independence. 


S30  THE  ADVENTURES 

"If  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  be  rude,"  he  said,  "the 
less  we  say  to  each  other  in  future  the  better  it  will  be,  as  I 
don't  intend  to  be  insulted.     We'll  travel  separately." 

Saying  this,  he  made  for  the  door,  striding  with  an  air  of 
offended  pride.     But  just  as  he  was  going  out,  she  cried — 

"  Oh,  Johnnie,  this  is  impossible !  We  cannot  live  like 
strangers  and  go  to  different  places.  It  would  be  too  dreadful. 
I  could  not  do  it.  I  should  be  always  thinking  of  my  Johnnie. 
You  know  I  don't  want  to  say  unkind  things,  but  my  nerves 
are  bad  to-day,  and  you  were  not  very  kind,  perhaps,  just  now, 
and  I  felt  a  Httle  hurt,  and  I Oh,  forgive  me,  Johnnie." 

The  poor  woman  was  sorely  troubled,  and  the  words  came 
out  with  difficulty.     She  seemed  in  pain. 

Johns  hesitated,  with  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door. 
He  did  not  want  to  quarrel  outright  with  his  wife  just  then, 
neither  did  he  wish  to  be  too  easily  conciliated.  He  waited  to 
hear  more. 

"  Don't  go,  my  Johnnie,"  she  said,  supplicatingly.  "  Come 
and  sit  here  near  me  as  you  used  to  do  —  at  first.  I've  been 
feeling  so  weak  and  ill  for  the  last  few  days. 

And  he,  with  a  half-reluctant  air,  went  back  to  her  and  took 
a  seat  upon  a  low  stool  beside  her,  looking  up  and  noticing  the 
paleness  of  her  face. 

"We'll  make  it  up,"  he  said;  "but  you  must  go  to  Bath. 
Your  health  needs  it.  Rose.  I  i^cpn't  go  to  Switzerland,  since 
you  don't  like  my  going  there,  but  somewhere  else,  and  I'll 
come  to  fetch  you  when  the  treatment's  over." 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  answered,  sorrowfully,  "if  it  must 
be  so  I " 

And  she  tried  to  look  contented. 

When  the  time  arrived,  Johns,  after  seeing  his  wife  off  at 
Paddington,  started  for  Dieppe,  the  next  day,  with  Mrs.  Weber. 
He  would,  no  doubt,  have  liked  to  go  to  Switzerland  alone, 
but  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  wiser  to 
refrain  from  doing  so.  Miss  Douglas,  whom  he  would  have 
met  there,  would,  he  knew,  be  closely  guarded  by  her  father, 
and  he  might  not  enjoy  himself  at  all.  All  things  considered, 
Mrs.  Weber  would  be  the  best  companion  he  could  have 
just  then. 

They  crossed  together  from  Newhaven,  and  arrived  at  Dieppe 
after  a  calm  trip  across  the  channel. 

In  order  that  they  might  not  run  the  risk  of  meeting  friends, 
Johns  had  engaged,  by  letter,  a  villa  on  the  cliffs,  at  some 
distance  from  the  town,  and  thither  they  repaired  at  once.     It 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aai 

fras  a  bright  and  pleasant  little  house — one  of  the  many  let  to 
bathers  for  the  season — and  it  was  surrounded  by  a  garden 
railed  oflf  from  the  road  on  one  side,  and  from  the  downs  upon 
the  other  by  a  high  railing. 

Here  the  time  passed  peaceably  enough  in  bathing,  reading, 
and  in  idling. 

Johns,  however,  after  a  few  weeks  of  this  secluded  life,  began 
to  feel  a  lassitude,  a  langour.  Whether  it  was  that  they  were 
too  constantly  together,  that  he  was  growing  hypercritical,  or 
that  the  beauty  of  Miss  Douglas  haunted  him,  he  was  beginning 
to  find  defects  in  his  companion.  She  was  older  than  he  had 
at  first  thought,  and  though  she  had  never  confessed  her  age, 
he  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  she  was  within  a  measurable 
distance  of  five-and-thirty.  It  was  particularly  after  bathing, 
when  they  returned  home  by  the  cliffs,  that  he  noticed  how 
fatigued  she  looked,  and  how  her  features  had  become  accen- 
tuated, and  he  would  think,  "  My  worthy  Ellen,  you're  going 
down  the  hill." 

One  afternoon  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  little  salon  of 
the  villa,  rocking  themselves  in  rocking-chairs  before  the  open 
window.  The  day  had  been  fine  and  warm,  and  the  channel 
sea  was  stretched  before  them  like  a  placid  lake.  Insects  were 
flying  about  the  room  buzzing  loudly. 

Johns,  who  was  affected  by  the  heat,  was  in  one  of  those 
tempers  which  made  him  feel  inclined  to  vent  his  spleen  on 
somebody.  He  was  smoking  cigarettes,  with  his  feet  upon  a 
chair,  contemplating  Ellen  as  she  turned  over  the  pages  of  a 
French  novel. 

"Ellen,"  he  said  suddenly,  with  a  curious  smile,  "what's 
your  game  in  life  ?  " 

She  looked  up  suddenly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  quickly. 

" I  mean,  how  do  you  intend  to  finish  up?" 

"To  finish  up?" 

"  Yes  !  Some  day  or  other,  I  suppose,  we  shall  have  a  row, 
or  get  separated  in  one  way  or  another.  Then  what  do  you 
intend  to  do?" 

"What  a  question!"  she  said,  frowning,  "Why  should  we 
quarrel,  why  should  we  separate  ?  I  presume  you're  not  con- 
templating our  separation  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,  Ellen ;  but  I've  always  noticed  that  unless 
men  and  women  are  linked  together  by  the  law,  they  invariably 
fall  asunder.  I  don't  know  why  it  should  be,  but  they  do- 
always." 

"  Always  when  one  of  them  desires  it" 


IS 2  THE  ADVENTURES 

There  was  a  silence.     Johns  went  on  smoking  his  cigarette. 

Presently  she  said,  "  I  suppose  you  mean  to  play  me  a  trick, 
as  you  play  everyone  who  knows  you." 

"  My  dear  Ellen,  you're  getting  as  bad  as  if  you  were 
my  wife." 

"  That  is  what  I  should  have  been,  had  I  not  been  so 
fooUsh." 

"Don't  regret  it,  Ellen.  It's  a  queer  sort  of  post  to  be 
Mrs.  Johns." 

**  How  well  you  know  yourself!  You  know  how  treacherous 
you  are." 

"  Vou  know  very  well  that  it's  just  because  I'm  not  a  silly 
fool  you  like  me.  You  yourself,  dear  Ellen,  once  wanted  to 
play  me  a  little  trick,  you  may  remember." 

"  I  wish  I  had." 

•'  Of  course  you  do ;  but  the  combination  fell  through 
lamentably.     I  wasn't  to  be  fooled  so  easily." 

And  they  continued  in  this  strain,  half  in  earnest,  half  in 
bandinage,  until  they  both  grew  tired  of  it. 

"The  fact  is,"  Johns  said  at  length,  "we're  like  two  augurs 
meeting.     We  can't  take  each  other  seriously." 

Although  they  bathed  together  daily,  they  refrained  from 
being  seen  together  on  the  promenade  or  in  the  town,  because 
both  were  afraid  of  meeting  English  friends ;  but  the  day  after 
this  Httle  argument,  they  were  sitting  under  a  kind  of  awning  in 
front  of  the  villa  before  the  garden  and  not  far  from  the  long 
white  road  which  led  from  the  town.  It  was  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  and  they  were  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  which 
had  sprung  up  since  the  previous  day.  Mrs.  Weber  was 
making  cigarettes  of  a  special  blend  of  tobacco  of  which 
Johns  was  fond.  There  were  few  passers-by  in  the  road 
beyond,  but  those  there  were,  could  see  into  the  garden 
through  the  railings. 

Suddenly  a  portly  figure,  dressed  in  a  dark  grey  suit  with  the 
clerical  collar  of  an  English  clergyman,  and  accompanied  by 
two  blonde  young  ladies  with  thin,  narrow  faces,  and  mouths 
which  did  not  close  sufficiently,  appeared  on  the  other  side  of 
the  high  railings. 

The  portly  person  adjusted  his  eye-glass,  stood  still  for  a 
moment  looking  first  at  Mrs.  Weber,  then  at  Johns,  after  which 
he  moved  off  with  great  dignity  to  overtake  the  ladies,  who  had 
continued  on  their  road. 

"  By  God,"  said  Johns,  "  it's  that  old  sneak  the  Dean  1 " 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  "  and  if  it  is,  you  needn't  be  so  over- 
powered." 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  123 

"  It's  very  fine  for  you  to  talk,"  he  said,  roughly,  "  but  it's  a 
damned  nuisance.  He'll  go  and  write  it  to  my  wife,  as  certain 
as  he's  a  dean." 

"  Well  it's  as  bad  for  me  as  for  you,  I  fancy." 

"  Is  it  ?"  he  said,  sneeringly.  **  What  have  you  to  lose 
beyond  a  pennyworth  of  reputation,  I  should  like  to  know? 
With  me  it's  a  matter  of  three  thousand  pounds  a  year." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  she  laughed  derisively,  "  it  would  be  too  funnj 
if  you  were  to  figure  in  a  divorce  case." 

•'  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  find  it  quite  so  funny  when  you 
were  called  upon  to  explain  in  Court  the  nature  of  our  arrange- 
ment." 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  carelessly,  "  nothing  matters  much  now 
to  me.  Once  I  thought  that  I  could  some  day  have  been  your 
wife,  but  all  that's  over  now.  You're  not  the  kind  of  man  to 
marry  for  anything  but  a  heap  of  gold,  my  rapacious  Johnnie. 
I  know  you  well.  You'd  imagine  yourself  a  poor  man  if  you 
were  a  Rothschild  ! " 

He  said,  "  You  think  it's  wealth  alone  I  want  ?  " 

•*  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"Just  as  you  like,  Ellen;  since  you  know  me  so  well  I  won't 
contradict  you.  It  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  I'm  going  to  have 
the  devil's  own  trouble  with  my  wife,  and  all  on  account  of  that 
silly  mania  of  yours  for  sitting  out  here  in  pubHc.  He  didn't 
even  bow ! " 

She  said,  "  You're  making  a  great  deal  out  of  nothing.  As 
if  you  mightn't  have  been  calling  on  me  as  a  friend  ! " 

"  Ah,  yes,  that's  one  of  those  Saxon  notions  for  which 
they've  tried  to  make  Plato  responsible,  and  which  they  don't 
really  believe  themselves.  Anybody  who  knows  me  knows 
that  I  don't  indulge  in  vagaries  of  that  sort.  Remember  that 
that  old  person  has  been  disinherited,  and  he's  ready  to  be 
spiteful." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  composedly,  "  that's  what  comes  of  what 
is  called  an  irregular  position."     But  Johns  burst  out — 

"  An  irregular  position !  As  if  anyone  cared  for  regular 
positions  except  mediocrities.  I  should  have  thought  you'd 
seen  enough  of  life  to  be  aware  of  that.  Regularity  means 
stagnation,  and  only  fools  stagnate.  Life  isn't  long  enough  for 
that.  We've  got  to  get  the  best  we  can  out  of  it  before  we're 
fifty.  It's  a  rum  sort  ot  farce  afterwards.  Un  to  thirty  a  man's 
groping,  so  he's  only  got  just  twenty  years  of  strengtn.  Do  you 
think  that  if  he  shuts  himself  up  in  a  regular  position,  as  some 
people  call  it,  he  ever  gets  a  chance  of  knowing  what  life  is  ? 
Never.    Life,  my  worthy  Elleni  is  infinity  and  no  one  ever 


334  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

gets  to  know  it  thoroughly.  The  man  who  explores  it,  best  is 
he  who  takes  a  crooked  course  and  forces  it  to  tell  its  secrets ! 
What  do  those  staid  and  sober  puritans  who  form  the  majority 
of  the  inhabitants  of  that  island  over  yonder  know  of  the 
plenitude,  the  magnitude  of  life  ?  They  treat  it  as  if  it  were  a 
great,  dull,  lumbering  machine,  which  could  only  go  on  one 
changeless  plan.  They  know  about  as  much  of  their  existence 
as  the  cab  horse  of  the  people  in  the  cab  he  draws.  Well,  that 
sort  of  life  wasn't  made  for  me.  I  want  emotions.  I  want  my 
pulse  to  beat  a  little  faster  than  the  snail's  pace  of  mediocrity 
/  want  to  take  a  deeper  draught  of  the  liquor  of  existence ! " 

"  Well,  my  dear  John,"  she  said,  "you're  likely  to  have  plenty 
of  emotions  if  the  Dean  acts  as  you  think  he  will." 

But  Johns  had  risen  from  his  chair. 


CHAPTER 
FIFTEENTH 

TWO  years  elapsed.  After  many  bickerings,  Mrs.  Johns, 
who  had  lost  her  last  illusions  as  to  her  husband's 
conduct,  had  resigned  herself  at  length  to  a  life  of  passive 
acquiescence,  conscious  of  the  legal  strength  of  her  position, 
which  not  all  the  rivals  in  the  world  could  injure. 

As  can  easily  be  imagined,  she  was  not  happy.  Every  aay, 
almost  every  hour,  she  was  reminded  by  the  smiles,  the 
reticences,  the  hesitations  of  her  friends  that  the  sad  collapse 
of  her  married  life  was  known,  and  though  with  a  touching 
display  of  ingenuity  she  endeavoured  sometimes  to  invent 
excuses  for  her  husband's  absences  at  times  when  his  place  was 
at  her  side,  the  excuses  were  generally  so  manifestly  weak,  that 
she  felt  that  no  one  was  deceived  by  them.  And  yet  in  spite 
of  all  she  loved  her  husband,  and  when  she  spoke  of  him  to 
others  it  was  in  a  tone  of  admiration,  almost  of  respect. 
Whatever  Johns  did  or  said  that  was  fit  to  be  repeated,  such 
as  his  editorial  work  or  the  latest  of  his  epigrams,  she  would 
relate  with  pleasure,  deriving  a  kind  of  satisfaction  from  being 
the  wife  of  a  man  whose  strength  of  character  and  natural  ability 
seemed  to  be  so  universally  admitted. 

But  now,  however,  a  little  fearful  for  the  future,  she  evinced 
for  her  friends — for  those  who  had  known  her  almost  from  her 
youth — much  more  affection  than  she  had  shown  before. 

With  feminine  prudence  she  endeavoured  to  conciliate  them, 
lest  she  might  some  day  find  herself  alone,  and  even  the  Dean 
(who  had  been  so  instrumental  after  the  discovery  he  had 
made  at  Dieppe  in  opening  her  eyes  as  to  her  husband's 
conduct)  she  managed  to  appease  by  paying  for  the  education 
of  one  of  his  many  sons. 

Gradually  she  had  come  to  be  somewhat  pitied,  to  be 
Q 


126  THE  ADVENTURES 

considered  as  a  woman  undeservedly  in  an  unfortunate 
position,  and  this  was  the  view  taken  of  the  case  by  both  Lord 
Stanfield  and  his  wife,  in  whose  estimation  Johns  had  fallen, 
as  they  did  not  fail  to  make  him  realize. 

In  the  meantime  Johns  had  gratified  his  wish  to  test  and  to 
explore  life  fully.  His  ample  means  permitted  him  to  take 
pleasures  which  previously  had  been  denied  him,  and  for  some 
time  he  indulged  in  every  hedonistic  freak  his  fancy  could  suggest. 
Not  only  did  he  become  an  epicure,  a  connoisseur  of  wines — 
in  which  at  one  time  he  indulged  so  freely  as  to  come 
perilously  near  earning  the  reputation  of  a  drunkard — but  he 
led  for  a  period  somewhat  the  life  of  a  Turkish  Pasha,  with 
Mrs.  Weber,  who  had  resigned  herself  to  the  inevitable  like 
Mrs.  Johns,  as  his  chief  lady. 

It  was  not  that  he  cared  for  the  facile  conquests  which  he 
made,  or  found  much  pleasure  in  moments  passed  in  the 
company  of  the  flatterers  and  boon  companions  he  had 
grouped  around  him,  but  he  was  travailed  by  a  strange  desire 
to  show  society — and  especially  that  section  of  it  which  had 
been  the  means  of  elevating  him  to  the  prosperity,  the 
eminence,  he  now  enjoyed — that  he  was  superior  to  the  laws 
of  conduct  governing  ordinary  mortals,  and  that  his  will  was 
the  only  master  of  his  acts.  If  he  wished  to  leave  his  house  in 
the  afternoon  and  not  return  till  the  next  morning  with  dirty  linen 
and  reddened  eyes,  it  was  not  the  same  as  if  an  ordinary  man 
had  done  so.  If  he  chose  to  give  luncheon  parties  which 
lasted  from  two  o'clock  till  midnight,  it  was  because  he,  John 
Johns,  the  editor  of  the  Centenary  Review,  for  high  reasons  of 
his  own,  thought  fit  to  do  so.  And  hence  he  came  to  be 
considered  as  an  exceptional  personality  to  whom  the  ordinary 
rules  of  life  did  not  apply,  who  possessed  a  genius  for 
singularity  which  was  not  to  be  disputed. 

All  kinds  of  legends  were  gradually  formed  as  to  his  career 
in  the  past  and  in  the  present,  and  these  (as  usually  happens) 
were  full  of  errors  and  exaggerations  which  caused  him  to 
exclaim,  when  he  heard  of  them  from  a  friend,  "  The  fools ; 
they've  the  impudence  to  judge  me  by  their  own  standards  !" 

But  when  he  had  tasted  every  pleasure  which  came  within 
his  means,  exhausted  every  source  of  novelty,  he  relapsed  into 
a  satiated  state  of  disenchantment.  His  body  wanted  nothing, 
but  his  mind  was  filled  with  a  great  vague  longing,  and  with  a 
huge  contempt  for  the  men  and  women  whom  he  saw  around 
him,  and  whose  vanities  and  vices  he  knew  so  well.  He  had 
tested  the  virtue  of  the  women,  and  he  knew  the  value  of  the 
men  and  the  price  at  which  they  could  be  bought.     He  had 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  ta7 

explored  the  aristocracy  and  found  it  not  one  bit  more  scrupu- 
lous in  actual  reality  than  he,  and  if  he  was  to  have  respect  for 
people,  they  must  not  be  his  counterparts.  Those  men  and 
women,  too,  had  no  reason  for  not  leading  an  ideal  life,  such 
as  he  deemed  might  perhaps  be  possible,  for  they  had  their 
place^  in  the  social  scale  all  ready  found  for  them,  while  he 
had  had  to  conquer  his  by  his  own  "grit."  It  was  thus 
impossible  to  have  respect  for  anybody  in  this  world  of  cant 
and  ignorance,  in  which  men  were  but  mere  clothed  animals 
with  a  gift  of  thought  and  speech,  serving  to  render  them  the 
more  worthy  of  contempt.  The  earth  would  roll  eternally  and 
they  would  know  no  more  about  their  origin,  or  about  right 
and  wrong,  than  a  nigger  knows  of  Botticelli  or  a  Bedouin  of 
Wagner. 

And  his  lassitude  and  discontent  extended  now  to  art  and 
literature,  and  he  waged  a  war  in  his  Review  against  the  British 
public,  which  by  its  want  of  taste  and  of  discernment  had 
allowed  bad  paintings  and  bad  books  to  multiply.  He  did 
this  with  so  much  spirit,  too,  and  showed  so  much  discernment 
in  selecting  writers  capable  of  laying  on  the  lash  with  firmness 
and  ability,  that,  instead  of  alienating,  he  gained  readers, 
owing,  he  thought,  to  the  public's  fondness  for  strong  criticism, 
even  at  its  own  expense.  Foreign  art  and  letters  he  alone 
permitted 'to  be  praised,  and  the  resentment  he  excited  in 
the  breasts  of  English  writers  of  the  Saxon  school,  was  very 
bitter,  although  it  could  not  be  expressed,  since  Johns  held 
the  literary  reputation  of  most  of  them  in  a  great  measure  at 
his  mercy. 

If  he  chose  to  be  convinced  that  contemporary  art  was  an 
abomination,  and  that  English  fiction  had  been  gradually 
declining  since  the  time  of  Shakespeare  till  it  had  descended 
to  the  lowest  depth  of  artificiality  and  incoherence,  all  who 
wished  to  gain  his  favour  must  profess  to  think  so  too.  One, 
indeed,  of  the  few  satisfactions  \vhich  remained  to  him  was  his 
sense  of  power.  But  even  tliis  satisfaction  paled  when  he 
reflected  that  it  was  only  in  one  rather  narrow  sphere  that 
he  could  make  his  power  felt.  At  one  time  he  had  thought 
of  trying  to  obtain  a  seat  in  Parliament,  but  after  a  few 
evenings  spent  in  the  press  gallery,  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  politics  were  almost  as  great  a  weariness  as  acting  the 
part  of  husband  to  an  ancient  wife.  No,  he  wouldn't  be  the 
servant  of  a  lot  of  fools  who  might  criticize  his  acts.  Ah,  if  he 
had  a  young  and  pretty  wife  to  return  to  after  a  midnight  brawl 
at  Westminster,  after  he  had  told  them  plainly  what  he  thought 
of  them,  it  would  have  been  very  different.     But,  with  Mrs. 


flsS  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns,  all  the  poetry  would  disappear,  and,  after  all,  there  wa? 
poetry,  he  found,  in  his  composition.  He  couldn't  climb  with 
a  perspective  such  as  that.  His  wife  !  Really  it  was  perfectly 
ridiculous  to  see  the  care  she  bestowed  upon  her  person.  Her 
diet  was  a  complex  study,  and  all  the  morning  the  house  was 
full  of  manicures  and  pedicures  and  masseuses  and  complexion 
quacks,  and  once  a  week  her  doctor  called,  whether  she  were  ill 
or  not.  To  what  age  would  she  live,  he  wondered?  How 
perpetual  she  seemed  in  spite  of  the  wrinkles  which  massage 
could  not  conquer,  and  the  voice  which  had  grown  too  deep  1 
How  eternally  he  seemed  linked  to  her !  For  now  that  they 
had  settled  down  to  a  life  of  conjugal  aloofness,  now  that 
she  had  ceased  to  question  him  as  to  his  doings,  and  that  a 
semblance  of  married  harmony  was  maintained  before  strangers, 
for  some  reason  which  he  could  scarcely  have  defined,  he  felt 
himself  to  be  more  than  ever  tied  to  her.  There  she  was  with 
her  constant  smile  of  half- sorrowful  indulgence,  and  her  little 
simpering  ways,  ready  to  receive  the  prodigal  in  her  arms  again 
should  he  become  repentant,  and  resolved  to  go  on  living  in 
the  comfort  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  At  the 
dinner  table,  no  doubt,  she  was  an  attentive  listener  when  it 
pleased  him  to  be  expansive,  to  talk  of  men  and  books  ;  but  he 
knew  full  well  that  as  she  looked  at  him  while  he  spoke,  her 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  something  of  a  different  nature  to 
he  genius  of  a  French  writer,  or  the  literary  style  of  a  review 
contributor.  She  was  a  woman,  a  typical  and  ordinary  woman 
with  all  the  little  vanities  distinctive  of  her  sex,  and  with 
an  intellect  which  did  not  stretch  beyond  the  hmits  of 
the  strictly  commonplace.  On  her,  his  eloquence  was  wasted ; 
her  mind  was  practically  nil.  "She  has  intuitions,  the 
good  woman,"  Johns  muttered  to  himself  one  evening  as 
he  strolled  down  Piccadilly,  "  but  not  an  ounce  of  brains." 
He  compared  himself  sometimes  to  a  wandering  knight  upon 
a  chessboard  unable  to  escape  a  queen,  or  his  wife  to  a 
sentinel  in  permanence  at  Grosvenor  Place.  And  when  he 
thought  of  Edith  Douglas,  who  had  not  married,  though  she 
had  had  offers,  and  who  was  in  the  full  blossom  of  her  beauty, 
he  felt  that,  rich  though  he  might  be,  his  lot  was  hard. 

Most  men  who  fall  into  disorder  endeavour  to  preserve  some 
kind  of  an  ideal,  some  friend  whose  life  is  the  opposite  of  theirs, 
and  Johns  found  in  the  Colonel's  daughter  the  ideal  influence 
he  needed.  In  the  midst  of  his  gallant  adventures,  whether  he 
was  gratifying  a  passing  fancy  for  an  actress  or  laying  siege  to 
the  affections  of  a  duchess,  he  never  failed  to  spend  three, 
sometimes  four  hours  every  Sunday  with  Miss  Douglas,  to  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  tag 

annoyance  of  her  father,  who  had  warned  his  daughter  unavail- 
ingly  of  the  imprudence  of  receiving  such  a  man  so  often. 
Johns  would  tell  her  all  his  little  worries,  and  endeavour  to 
enlist  her  sympathy  for  him  in  the  helplessness  of  his  position, 
fettered  as  he  was  to  a  wife  who  could  not  understand  him,  who 
loved  him  chiefly  for  his  fame.  And  she  would  listen  smilingly 
to  all  he  said,  and  give  him  her  advice  on  questions  of  literary 
policy — advice  which  he  often  acted  on  out  of  compliment  to 
her.  Sometimes,  however,  she  was  serious  and  inclined  to  fret 
as  if  she  had  at  length  begun,  as  season  followed  season,  to 
realize  the  hopelessness  of  their  relations  to  each  other,  and 
was  taking  leave  of  the  illusions  which  girlhood  forms  of  the 
destinies  of  men  and  women  in  the  world,  and  the  fatality  of 
marriage. 

At  other  times,  when  they  were  alone,  she  would  tell  him 
that  she  had  heard  some  ugly  stories  of  his  gallantry.  He  would 
reply  that  they  were  partly  false,  that  she  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  who  could  force  him  to  be  faithful ;  that  if  ever 
they  once  were  married,  he  would  be  the  most  perfect  of 
reformed  prodigals.  He  knew  very  well  that  he  liked  her  all 
the  more  because  she  resisted  him,  and  the  regret  he  felt  at  not 
being  able  to  possess  her,  drove  him  sometimes  well-nigh  into  a 
frenzy. 

No,  there  was  no  way  out  of  the  situation — no  way  whatever 
unless — unlesss  the  illness  of  which  his  wife  had  complained 
now  and  then  of  late  were  really  serious.  Oh,  but  she  was  so 
robust,  so  remarkably  robust,  and  there  was  nothing  but  divorce 
to  have  recourse  to.  And  to  obtain  that,  his  wife  must  bring  a 
charge  against  him,  which  was  precisely  what  she  would  not  do. 
Had  she  not  told  him  so  one  day  with  that  air  of  settled  purpose 
which  he  knew  from  long  experience  a  woman  never  used 
except  when  resolute  ?  He  couldn't  force  an  issue  by  being 
brutal.  It  wasn't  in  his  character.  For,  after  all,  the  poor  old 
girl  had  been  very  good  to  him,  and  even  now  cared  for  him 
as  a  mother,  showing  herself  untiring  when  he  was  unwell, 
spoiling  him  by  every  means  she  could  devise.  Yes,  undtoubt- 
edly,  that  increased  the  difficulty  of  the  position. 

Then,  again,  there  was  the  question  of  finance.  If  he  were 
divorced  from  her,  half  the  fortune  would  remain  to  him,  no 
doubt,  but  the  household  would  be  broken  up,  and  he  could 
not,  on  his  own  share,  afford  to  live  in  such  a  house  or  upon  so 
large  a  scale.  He  would  have  to  reduce  his  style  of  living,  and 
that  was  a  thing  he  was  very  much  disinclined  to  do.  Life 
was  dreary  and  dull  enough  even  when  one  lived  it  in  the 
fulness  of  its  possibilities,  but  when  lived  otherwise  it  was  i 


«30  THE  ADVENTURES 

very  poor  game  indeed.  And  then,  as  he  reflected  over  the 
position,  and  realized  how  thoroughly  checkmated  he  now  was, 
he  fell  to  making  accusations  against  society  in  general,  creating 
a  sort  of  virtue  for  himself  by  exposing  its  shortcomings  in  a 
Socratic  kind  of  way,  but  becoming  cordially  detested,  and 
dubbed  a  bore,  a  cad,  by  those  who  accepted  society  as  it  is 
constituted. 

But  for  them  Johns  cared  nothing.  He  knew  that  by  giving 
frequent  luncheons,  fastuous  dinners,  he  could  always  chain  to 
him  a  number  of  acquaintances  whose  stomach-gratitude  would 
at  least  prevent  them  from  becoming  enemies.  He  could 
always  count  upon  a  band  of  staunch  supporters  who  were, 
from  long  practice,  habituated  to  listen  patiently  to  enunciations 
of  opinions  which  grew  less  and  less  orthodox  as  the  time  went 
on.  Often,  indeed,  for  the  mere  delight  of  "startling  tha 
Saxon,"  as  he  called  it,  he  would  propound  some  theory  sub- 
versive of  one  or  many  of  the  rules  by  which  society  is  governed. 
He  would  try  to  prove  the  necessity  for  what  is  known  as  sin, 
showing  how  wrong  it  was  to  think  that  sin  was  not  a  useful 
factor  in  the  world  since  it  preserved  it  from  the  calm  stupidity 
of  universal  goodness.  What  was  there  that  was  great  which 
had  not  sprung  from  sin  ?  When  sin  had  been  successful  it 
grew  respectable,  underwent  a  metamorphosis,  became  virtue. 
The  world  without  it  would  be  a  mill-pond  of  sobriety  and  of 
inanity.  Sin  was  the  salt  of  life.  It  required  twice  as  much 
pluck  to  practise  it  as  it  did  to  lead  an  exemplary  existence. 
All  who  had  made  a  deep  mark  in  history  had  recognized  this 
principle  from  Hannibal  to  Napoleon.  And  then  sometimes  he 
would  tilt  at  received  religion,  lapsing  into  bad  taste,  calling 
the  Trinity  a  one-legged  tripod,  enquiring  the  composition  of 
an  angel's  wings,  attacking  bishops  and  iutti  quanti,  pro- 
claiming himself  a  devout  materialist. 

It  seemed  as  though  some  demon  of  combativeness  were 
prompting  him  to  act  as  he  was  doing,  were  pushing  him  on  to 
fly  in  the  face  of  received  opinions.  Whither  this  tendency 
would  lead  him,  he  did  not  care.  He  felt  he  was  a  power,  and 
he  wanted  to  impose  himself  upon  society  as  such. 

Matters  had  been  going  thus  at  Grosvenor  Place  all  through 
the  winter  when  one  day,  in  the  early  spring,  an  incident 
occurred  which  gave  Johns  a  sudden  thrill,  and  awakened  him 
from  the  state  of  lethargic  indifference  into  which  he  had  been 
drifting. 

He  had  gathered  round  him  four  friends  at  luncheon.  All 
save  one,  who  was  a  needy  Viscount  whom  he  sometimes  helped, 
were  journalists  more  or  less  of  the  second  magnitude.     Two 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  131 

of  them  were  men  of  about  his  own  age,  and  wne,  a  dramatic 
critic,  was  ten  years  older.  He  had  met  them  all  while  he 
conducted  Dawson's  journal,  and  of  late  he  had  shown  a 
temporary  affection  for  old  friends,  many  of  the  new  ones  having 
recently  shown  signs  of  shyness.  Mrs.  Johns,  looking  somewhat 
pale,  occupied  the  end  of  the  table,  and  was  doing  her  best  to 
smile  pleasantly  upon  her  guests,  and  to  listen  with  them  to  the 
praise  which  Johns  was  bestowing  upon  Spanish  art,  of  which 
he  spoke  almost  as  if  he  had  discovered  it.  "  Velazquez,"  he 
was  saying,  as  if  he  were  for  ever  consecrating  him,  "  was  a 
giant,  a  colossus,  a  genius  of  superhuman  strength !  Spain 
must  have  been  steeped  in  art  to  bring  forth  such  a  prodigy !" 
And  he  was  in  the  act  of  casting  his  eyes  upwards  to  emphasize 
his  admiration  when,  suddenly,  a  stifled  cry  was  heard,  and 
Mrs.  Johns  fell  backward  in  her  chair. 

"By  God  !"  Johns  muttered,  as  he  rushed  to  his  wife's  side, 
"she's  fainted !" 

The  three  journalists  and  the  Viscount  rose  at  once. 

"  Ring  the  bell,"  Johns  said,  and  the  youngest  journalist 
touched  the  knob  in  the  chimney  corner,  while  the  Viscount 
dipped  his  finger- napkin  into  water  and  handed  it  to  Johns, 
who  applied  it  to  the  lips  and  forehead  of  the  unconscious 
woman. 

The  others,  rigid  in  their  long  frock  coats,  looked  on  in 
silence. 

Presently  the  servants  came,  and  Johns,  who  was  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement,  seeing  that,  in  spite  of  the  Viscount's 
endeavours  and  his  own,  his  wife  did  not  return  to  consciousness, 
cried  out  to  them — 

"  Go  one  of  you  and  fetch  Dr.  Mead." 

But  presently,  when  the  lady's-maid  had  unfastened  the 
collar  of  her  mistress's  dress  and  chafed  her  hands,  Mrs.  Johns's 
face  became  less  convulsed,  a  little  colour  came  back  to  her 
lips,  and  her  eyes  slowly  opened. 

Her  gaze  rested  first  on  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  then  on 
the  round  silly  face  of  the  young  Viscount,  and  at  length  upon 
Her  husband's. 

"  Oh,  my  Johnnie,"  she  sighed,  feebly;  "oh,  my  John  ! " 

And  Johns,  whose  excitement  had  suddenly  subsided,  pressed 
her  hand,  exclaiming  kindly — 

"  Why,  Rose,  what  is  all  this  about  r  You  weren't  tired  of 
listening  to  me,  were  you  ?  " 

A  faint  smile  overspread  her  countenance,  accentuating  th* 
lines  of  age. 

While  leaning  back  against  the  woodwork  of  the  high  chair 

} 


S39  THE  ADVENTURES 

in  which  she  generally  sat,  because  it  formed  a  dark  back- 
ground for  her  face,  her  hair  had  been  disarranged,  and  one 
short  lock,  released  from  the  knot  which  held  it,  was  hanging 
down  above  her  ear.     In  it  a  few  grey  hairs  were  visible. 

But  soon,  with  a  woman's  apprehension,  she  raised  her  hand 
and  tried  to  adjust  the  wandering  lock  which  the  maid  at  once 
attached.  She  was  better ;  but  as  she  complained  of  nausea, 
Johns  urged  her  to  retire  to  her  room,  whither  he  promised  he 
would  follow  her.  Almost  reluctantly  she  consented,  leaving 
slowly  with  her  maid. 

The  party  upon  this  broke  up,  and  the  guests,  as  they  left, 
pressed  Johns's  hand  as  if  to  show  their  sympathy.  Johns, 
with  an  expression  suited  to  the  occasion,  took  leave  of  them, 
saying,  with  an  air  of  quiet  patronage,  "  Good-bye,  Jameson, 
good-bye,  Charlton ;  I'll  see  you  again  soon,  my  boys." 

When  his  guests  had  left,  Johns  went  up  to  his  wife's  room. 
He  seldom  entered  this  room  now  (for  more  than  a  year  had 
passed  since  his  wife  and  he  had  lived  conjugally  together),  and 
as  he  crossed  the  threshold  he  thought  of  the  first  days  of  their 
marriage,  of  the  parody  of  love  he  had  had  to  play  there.  Two 
objects  caught  his  eye — the  vast  carved  oak  bed  in  which  his 
wife  now  dreamed  of  her  lost  illusions,  and  above  the  mantel  a 
portrait  of  himself  in  water-colours  which  he  had  given  her  before 
their  marriage. 

Stretched  in  a  sofa-chair,  Mrs.  Johns,  wrapped  in  a  rich,  pale 
orange  gown,  surcharged  with  lace,  was  inhaling  salts.  Her 
maid  was  spreading  a  covering  over  her  feet. 

Presently  the  maid  withdrew,  and  they  were  left  alone. 

"  Come  and  sit  near  me,  John,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
she  were  still  suffering ;  "  I've  something  I  want  to  tell  you." 

He  took  a  chair  and  placed  it  near  the  head  of  his  wife's 
couch. 

"  What  is  it.  Rose  ?  "  he  asked  indulgently,  almost  tenderly, 
as  he  sat  down. 

*'  Ah,"  she  said,  "  how  I  love  to  hear  you  speak  to  me 
like  that ! » 

The  poor  woman  was  so  much  in  need  of  kindness,  that  a 
kindly  spoken  word  came  like  balm  to  her  troubled  feelings. 
It  was  a  few  moments  before  she  said — 

**  Come  closer,  my  own  John,  and  listen.  You  remember 
that  I've  sometimes  told  you  I  was  not  well." 

He  nodded. 

"  Well,  my  John,  I'm  afraid  it's  more  serious  than  I 
thought." 

She  paused  a  moment,  glancing  at  him  as  if  seeking  to  read 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  i33 

his  thoughts,  but  his  face  betrayed  nothing  of  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind. 

He  made  a  gesture  which  was  meant  to  reassure  her.  He 
was  waiting  to  hear  more. 

"  John,  I'm  in  great  trouble,"  she  ejaculated ;  "  I  don't  know 
how  to  tell  you  what  it  is.  I  can't  believe  it  possible !  Dr. 
Mead  has  not  told  me  all,  but  I  fear  it  is  not  difficult  to 
guess." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  glance  of  rapid  scrutiny.  Taking 
her  hand,  he  said,  in  a  serious  tone,  "  What  is  it.  Rose  ?  Tell 
me  all  about  it.     You're  needlessly  alarmed,  perhaps." 

"  No,  John,"  she  answered,  sorrowfully,  "  I  fear  not." 

Still  she  hesitated,  reluctant  to  speak  plainly. 

At  length,  almost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  she  feared  that  someone 
might  overhear  her  woman's  secret,  she  told  him  of  her  grief. 

Yes,  she  had  sensations  which  were  unmistakable.  The 
malady  had  taken  root,  and  already,  in  spite  of  the  treatment 
she  had  undergone,  it  was  making  itself  felt ;  it  was  asserting  its 
power  over  her.  Soon  perhaps — ah,  must  she  confess  it  ?  soon 
she  would  be  unable  to  wear  a  low-necked  dress ! 

"  Really ! "  said  Johns,  astonished  beyond  measure.  "  I'm 
sure,  Rose,  you  exaggerate.  It's  not  so  bad  as  that.  I'm  sure 
it  can't  be." 

In  the  surprise  which  the  news  caused  him,  he  forgot  to  show 
more  sympathy,  and  she  glanced  at  him  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "how  I  wish  it  were  not !  " 

"  But  this  is  all  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  that  I  catMiot 
realize  it.  Rose.     Tell  me  more  about  it.     Show  me." 

But  she  shook  her  head  regretfully. 

"  No,  John,  don't  ask  me  that,  not  yet ! " 

He  guessed  that  one  of  those  instinctive  feelings  which  no 
woman  is  without  caused  her  to  shrink  from  saying  more.  He 
thought  it  best  not  to  insist.  He  would  know  the  truth  in 
another  way. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  "  it  may  not  be  so  bad  as  I  imagine ; 
but,  John,  some  fearful  operation  will  have  to  be  performed." 

He  answered,  somewhat  dubiously,  "  No,  Rose,  I  shouldn't 
think  so." 

But  raising  herself  in  her  couch  and  turning  towards  him,  she 
exclaimed,  "  John,  promise  me  that  whatever  happens  you  will 
be  good  to  me !  It  would  be  too  terrible  to  suffer  without  a 
little  sympathy,  a  little  love.  It's  not  much  I  ask  you,  John, 
but  I  want  a  little,  just  a  little !  For  the  last  year  I  have  been 
so  unhappy,  for  you  have  turned  away  from  me,  from  me  who 
loved  you  so  1     I  have  said  nothing,  believing  that  my  Johonip 


834  THE  ADVENTURES 

would  come  back  to  me  when  he  had  found  that  there  was  no 
woman  in  the  world  who  could  do  so  much  for  him  as  I,  and 
now,  who  knows  what  is  to  be  my  fate ! " 

Suddenly,  as  she  sank  back  again,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
and  her  breast  began  to  heave  with  suppressed  emotion,  the 
muscles  of  Johns's  face  gave  a  nervous  twitch. 

**  Rose,"  he  said,  kissing  the  hand  he  held  in  his,  "  I  don't 
believe  you're  half  so  bad  as  you  suppose.  In  any  case,  you 
know  that  I'm  your  husband,  and  that,  of  course,  you  can  rely 
upon  my  care.  It  would  be  a  little  too  bad  if  it  were 
otherwise." 

She  took  a  sidelong  glance  at  him  again  as  if  trying  for  the 
second  time  to  guage  his  thoughts,  but  he  had  no  intention  of 
betraying  them,  and  for  many  minutes  they  remained  silent. 
Johns  was  thinking  of  the  new  aspect  which  things  had  taken. 
His  wife  was  going  to  be  an  invalid,  and  possibly  to 

Suddenly  he  had  a  kind  of  foretaste  of  approaching  freedom, 
such  as  prisoners  experience  on  the  merest  rumour  of  release, 
and  he  closed  his  eyes,  mdulging  in  a  dream  which,  though 
vague  and  a  little  sombre,  was  yet  strangely  soothing.  Life, 
after  all,  was  planned  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  could  enjoy 
it  best.  It  was  singular  how  mundane  matters  were  ordained. 
Singular  indeed !  And  his  musing  ended  in  a  vision  of  the 
Colonel's  daughter  as  she  had  appeared  to  him  on  his  last  visit 
in  the  richness  of  her  beauty. 

But  when  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  saw  his  wife  pale  and 
sorrowful  before  him,  he  thought,  "  Poor  woman  ! " 

And  as  if  she  had  divined  the  passing  feeling  of  compassion, 
she  whispered  softly,  "  Kiss  me,  Johnnie." 

He  bent  over  hei  and  placed  his  lips  upon  her  forehead ;  but 
eagerly,  as  though  she  wished  to  prolong  the  pleasure  so  visible 
upon  her  countenance,  she  offered  him  her  lips.  This  time, 
after  a  little  pause,  he  kissed  them.  If  what  she  said  were 
true,  he  could  afford  to  be  more  clement  now.  A  knock  at  the 
door  was  heard  and  a  servant  entered.  He  came  to  say  that 
Dr.  Mead  was  out.  But  Mrs.  Johns  declared  that  she  no 
longer  needed  him. 

As  soon  as  the  servant  left,  Johns  said,  '•  Rose,  we  must  see 
a  specialist." 

"Oh  John,"  she  answered,  "I'm  so  afraid  to  learn  the 
truth!" 

And  Johns,  who  wanted  to  ascertain,  replied,  "I'm  afraid 
there  is  no  help  for  it." 

Throughout  that  evening  Johns  was  untiring  in  his  attention 
to  his  wife,  dining  with  her  alone  in  the  little  boudoir  on  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  a35 

ground  floor,  spending  the  evening  in  her  company  instead  of 
going  to  the  club,  answering  some  letters  for  her,  and  speaking 
to  her  kindly. 

He  did  this  so  well,  indeed,  that  Mrs.  Johns  seemed  almost 
to  forget  her  trouble  in  the  joy  of  this  reconciliation,  and  when 
they  parted  for  the  night  at  the  door  of  her  own  room — for 
Johns  slept  on  the  floor  above — she  whispered,  "Perhaps,  John, 
I  may  get  better." 

And  Johns  thought,  as  he  mounted  the  flight  of  stairs,  "  How 
they  love  illusions ! " 

Yes,  it  was  always  so.  There  was  eternally  the  same 
striving  on  the  woman's  part  to  obtain  man's  sympathy,  to 
occupy  a  man's  attention,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  a  man's 
tenderness  and  care.  Here  was  this  poor  old  woman  who,  by 
this  little  kindness,  had  been  made  to  forget  his  infidelity  and 
her  own  ills !  Really  she  was  touching  in  her  naiveness  and 
the  adoration  which  she  showed  him.  But  it  was  the  old 
story,  the  constant  striving  of  Nature  to  assert  herself,  the 
undeviating  bent  of  the  woman's  mind,  filled  ever  with  one 
central  thought  to  which  all  others  gravitated  !  All,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  wanted  to  be  loved,  to  be  caressed. 
Incapable  of  taking  any  real  interest  in  what  men  do  to 
become  heroes  or  to  earn  fame,  they  rejoiced  to  be  the  wives 
of  heroes  or  celebrities,  chiefly  because  the  world  envied  and 
admired  them.  And  the  love  of  being  envied  and  admired  was 
sister  to  the  love  of  being  loved.  Strange  instinctive  creatures 
were  these  women ;  but,  by  God,  how  useful ! 

Busied  with  these  reflections,  he  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  he  rose  earlier  than  usual.  As  soon  as 
his  valet  came,  he  sent  him  to  inquire  if  Mrs.  Johns  had 
passed  a  good  night,  and  as  the  reply  was  that  she  had,  and 
would  like  to  see  him  before  he  left,  he  dressed  and  went 
down  to  his  wife's  room. 

He  found  her  still  in  bed,  although  a  glance  told  him 
that  her  facial  toilet  had  been  made  in  anticipation  of  his 
coming. 

"  And  how  goes  it,  Rose,  this  morning  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  he 
took  a  seat  upon  the  counterpane. 

She  had  slept,  she  told  him,  but  was  still  in  pain.  Why  did 
he  not  kiss  her  ? 

"She  wants,"  he  thought,  "to  go  on  where  we  left  off 
yesterday,"  and  he  gave  her  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  the  doctor  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  "  and 
entreat  him  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth." 

"  It  won't  be  as  bad  as  you  think,  Rose,  I  promise  you,"  he 


«36  THE  ADVENTURES 

answCTed  by  way  of  saying  something,  for  his  own  plan  was 
formed. 

"Do  you  know,  John,"  she  said,  "I  dreamed  of  you  last 
night.  I  dreamed  I  was  very,  very  ill,  and  that  you  were 
nursing  me  so  tenderly  that  I  felt  it  was  almost  pleasant  to  be 
ill !  Say,  my  John,  that  if  I  am  to  be  an  invalid,  my  dream 
will  have  come  true !  Tell  me  again,  with  that  beautiful  deep 
voice  of  yours,  that  if  the  worst  should  happen,  you  will  not 
desert  me ! " 

He  thought,  "She  really  gives  too  much  of  that,"  and 
answered,  "Have  confidence  in  me,  dear  Rose.  Have 
confidence ! " 

Then,  as  he  was  afraid  of  being  forced  to  hsten  to  more 
sentiment,  he  told  her  he  must  be  at  his  ofSce  early,  and  left 
her  to  her  thoughts. 

Quickly  he  breakfasted  in  the  great  dining-room,  and  then 
left  in  a  hansom,  not  for  Bedford,  but  for  Harley  Street. 

He  wanted  to  see  his  wife's  practitioner  himself,  and  he 
thought  that  at  this  early  hour  he  had  the  greatest  chance  o/ 
finding  him. 

Somehow  or  other  the  streets  looked  gayer,  brighter,  than 
they  had  seemed  to  him  of  late.  There  was  a  mysterious  air 
of  promise  in  the  aspect  of  the  thoroughfares,  almost  as  in  the 
days  of  his  first  successes  when  he  began  to  feel  that  he  was 
on  the  road  to  fortune. 

There  was  promise  in  the  delicious  air  of  spring,  promise  in 
the  bright  blue  sky  above.  Even  the  loaded  omnibuses  going 
citywards  with  their  freight  of  clerks  seemed  full  of  life  and 
action.  As  he  passed  a  flower  shop,  a  girl  with  a  pretty  face 
and  a  lithe  figure,  was  arranging  bouquets  of  delicate  white  roses 
in  the  window,  and  he  was  about  to  stop  his  hansom  and 
alight,  so  that  he  might  ask  the  maiden  to  fill  his  button-hole 
when  he  reflected  that,  for  the  visit  he  was  about  to  pay,  a 
flowered  button-hole  would  be  out  of  place.  No,  there  was  a 
fitness  and  a  time  for  all  things.  As  the  hansom,  passing 
through  Cavendish  Square,  entered  the  long  and  sombre  street 
which  the  Faculty  have  chosen  as  their  abode,  he  wondered 
what  this  medicine  man  was  going  to  say.  IVas  his  wife 
attacked  as  she  supposed?  Yes,  he  fancied  women  did  not 
often  make  mistakes  in  matters  of  that  kind.  But  what,  after 
all,  if  she  were  ?  Those  doctors  had  brought  their  art  to  such 
perfection  now  that  very  few  people  died  except  from  accidents 
or  from  old  age. 

The  hansom  stopped  before  a  house  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and  Johns  alighted. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  .37 

The  servant  who  answered  the  door  said  that  the  doctor 
fras  at  home,  and  would  see  Johns  presently. 

He  was  shown  into  a  lofty  waiting-room  furnished  with  a 
wealth  of  morocco  and  mahogany.  A  Turkey  carpet  lay  upon 
the  floor,  and  the  walls  were  hung  with  mezzo-tints.  He  took 
up  a  copy  of  the  TiTnes  which  was  on  the  table.  But  almost 
immediately  he  threw  it  down  again. 

"  Curse  him,  it's  yesterday's,"  he  muttered. 

And  then,  thrown  into  a  bad  temper  by  the  disappointment, 
he  occupied  the  time  as  best  he  could  by  walking  up  and 
down  the  gloomy  room,  swearing  that  it  was  a  dungeon,  vexed 
that  he  should  be  imprisoned  in  it,  thinking  that  he  should 
not  be  made  to  wait  like  the  merest  mediocrity. 

And  at  length  when,  after  half  an  hour,  he  was  ushered  into 
the  study  of  the  -^sculapius,  he  was  by  no  means  in  an  even 
frame  of  mind. 

Without  preamble,  after  a  mere  good  morning  to  the  tall 
elderly  man  with  a  shaven  face  who  received  him  affably,  he 
said,  "  I've  not  come  for  myself,  doctor,  but  for  my  wife.  I  want 
to  know  just  what's  the  matter  with  her.  She  says  you  don't 
care  to  tell  her." 

The  doctor,  who  seemed  surprised  at  the  peremptory  tone 
of  Johns,  opened  a  book  which  was  before  him  on  his  table, 
and  turned  over  a  few  pages.  He  stopped  at  one  which  he 
read  over  to  himself. 

"  Am  I  to  tell  you  the  exact  nature  of  the  case  ?  *  he 
asked. 

Johns  answered,  "  If  you  please." 

Johns  had  taken  a  chair  opposite  the  window  from  which  a 
ray  of  sunlight  streamed,  brightening  the  bindings  of  the  books 
with  which  the  room  was  lined.  The  doctor  scrutinized  him 
closely  as  he  continued  slowly — 

"  Has  Mrs.  Johns  told  you  what  it  is  she  fears  ?  " 

"She  has." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  I  must  confirm  her  apprehensions.  The 
case  is  serious,  and  I  am  glad  you've  come  to  see  me,  for  some- 
thing should  undoubtedly  be  done  and  soon.  We  have  a  rapid 
growth  which  it  may  be  possible  to  eliminate,  though  I  am  by 
no  means  confident.  Without  telling  her  the  exact  nature  of  the 
disease,  I  have  mentioned  the  necessity  for  an  operation.  She 
recoils  from  the  idea." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Johns's  face  moved.  It  was  quite  useless,  he 
thought,  before  this  scientist,  who  was  a  man  of  the  world  as 
well,  and  who  had  once  dined  with  them  at  Grosvenor  Place, 
to  simulate  emotion. 


138  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

He  answered,  "  Of  course,  doctor,  whatever  you  advise  will 
have  to  be  done." 

"  Quite  so,  I  take  it  that  you  will  obtain  your  wife's  consent." 

•'She  will  give  it  of  her  own  accord  if  you  explain  the 
danger  to  her." 

"  Very  well  then,  Mr.  Johns,  if  you  prefer  it  so,  I  shall  speak 
to  her  to-day,  when  I  notice  she  is  coming  here  to  see  me.  It 
would  be  well  if  you  could  accompany  her." 

"  I'll  come." 

And  the  physician  rose  to  intimate  that  he  was  busy,  that 
the  interview  was  over. 

Johns,  as  he  was  going,  asked,  "Are  such  operations 
dangerous  ?  " 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  they  are,  although  in  this  case 
I  hope  we  shall  be  successful.  Whether  the  operation 
will  be  effectual  or  not,  is  another  matter." 

Thus  enlightened,  Johns  left  the  study. 

In  a  meditative  mood  he  walked  to  the  nearest  post  office  to 
send  a  telegram  to  Rose.  He  would  call  for  her,  he  tele- 
graphed, at  three. 

"  By  God,"  he  muttered,  as  he  made  for  Bedford  Street, 
"  Rose  is  in  a  bad  way,  a  damned  bad  way ! " 

Life,  he  reflected,  was  marvellously  full  of  change !  Who 
would  have  suspected,  a  few  days  previously,  when  his  wife 
appeared  to  him  in  the  light  of  a  perennial  tree  destined  to 
resist  the  blight  of  years,  that  on  this  fine  spring  morning  he 
would  be  returning  from  a  visit  to  a  doctor  who  had  given 
him  to  understand  that  her  life  was  jeopardised?  Ah,  well, 
things  were  moving  quickly  for  him  now ! 


CHAPTER 
SIXTEENTH 

JOHNS'S  uncertainty  was  set  at  rest  a  few  weeks  afterwards. 
The  operation  performed  upon  his  wife  had  been  so  far 
successful  that  it  had  not  ended  fatally,  although  the  doctors 
had  expressed  some  doubts  whether  it  had  proved  effectual. 

During  the  days  immediately  preceding  it,  Johns  had  been 
unremitting  in  his  solicitude.  But  when  the  ordeal  had  been 
gone  through,  when  it  was  known  that  the  issue  was  not  destined 
to  be  fatal,  when  he  had  seen  his  wife  restored  to  consciousness 
and  heard  her  murmur,  with  livid  lips  and  gasping  breath, 
"  Oh,  John  ! "  he  felt  as  though  something  had  suddenly  gone 
wrong  with  him,  as  if  some  spring  of  his  organization  had  given 
way.  Ah,  there  had  been  strange  moments  !  When  the  life 
of  the  woman  to  whom  his  own  was  linked  was  trembling  in 
the  balance,  when  none  of  those  who  were  standing  at  her 
bedside,  not  even  the  doctors  who  had  used  their  skill,  knew 
whether  she  would  live  or  die,  he  had  gone  through  many  a 
sensation,  had  experienced  many  an  emotion  !  And  when  the 
result  was  known,  when  it  was  decided  that  Rose  was  going  to 
continue  living,  he  had  felt  but  one  desire — that  of  fleeing  from 
the  house,  of  getting  away  from  there !  As  soon  as  he  had 
beheld  his  wife,  haggard  and  aged,  as  she  appeared  after  she 
returned  to  consciousness,  he  could  no  longer  stay  beside 
her.  Quickly  he  had  fled,  and  had  spent  the  evening  with  a 
band  of  journaHsts  at  a  tavern  in  the  heart  of  Fleet  Street, 
celebrating,  as  he  told  them  with  a  dubious  grin,  his  wife's 
recovery.  And  he  had  done  so  with  so  much  vigour,  that  they 
had  brought  him  home  long  after  midnight  in  a  state  of 
alcoholic  torpor. 

The  next  day,  with  an  aching  head,  he  realized  the  situation. 
Now  he  would  have  to  lead  the  same  old  life  with  a  wife  who 


uo  THE  ADVENTURES 

would  think  herself  more  interesting  than  she  did  before,  and 
who  would  imagine,  like  the  naive  and  silly  woman  that  she  waa, 
that  her  illness  had  been  the  means  of  uniting  them  again.  As 
if  he  could  ever  really  be  the  husband  of  a  dilapidation  !  She 
would  understand  fkaf  when  she  recovered,  surely.  The 
doctor,  no  doubt,  had  said  that  she  was  not  completely  out  of 
danger;  but  who  could  tell  ?     Doctors  were  so  often  wrong ! 

All  through  the  summer,  Johns,  tired  of  making  love,  sought 
new  sensations  in  old  vintages,  and  he  soon  became  renowned 
among  his  cup  companions  for  his  extraordinary  capacity  for 
ingurgitation.  After  a  Httle  practice  and  a  strong  exercise  of 
will,  he  was  able  to  absorb  large  quantities  of  alcohol  without 
apparent  inconvenience.  He  wanted  to  be  remarkable  even  in 
insobriety.  For  it  marked  superiority,  according  to  his  way  of 
thinking,  to  have  the  power  of  resisting  the  effect  of  alcohol. 
"  By  God,"  he  would  say  to  those  who  endeavoured  to  keep 
pace  with  him,  "  your  heads,  my  friends,  are  made  of  a  rum 
sort  of  stuff!" 

One  evening,  however,  he  was  leaving  a  restaurant  on  the 
Embankment  in  the  company  of  an  erotic  poet  whose  mind  was 
a  strange  mixture  of  wit  and  incoherence,  and  who  had  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  public  by  his  eccentricities.  Both  had 
been  indulging  freely,  and  as  they  walked  arm-in-arm,  leaning 
affectionately  towards  each  other,  they  indulged  in  rhetoric. 

The  evening  sun  was  shedding  a  mellow  light  upon  the 
Thames,  softening  the  outlines  of  the  buildings  on  its  banks. 
The  air,  after  the  rain  which  had  fallen  in  the  morning,  was 
light  and  fresh.  It  was  an  ideal  afternoon.  Pointing  to  the 
left  bank  of  the  river,  Johns,  in  a  tender  mood,  was  saying — 

"  I  tell  you,  Horace,  that  there  is  beauty  in  those  chimneys 
over  yonder !  Look  at  them.  Behold  the  gentle  smoke  issuing 
in  majestic  clouds  from  the  stately  orifice.  See  how  it  ascends 
upwards  in  the  most  beautiful  of  spirals,  soft  and  delicate  in  its 
shade  of  tender  grey.  Horace,  why  are  there  no  poets  to  sing 
the  beauties  of  that  smoke,  to  immortalize  that  land  of  industry 
which  looks  from  here  so  placid?  Ah,  Horace,  Horace,  why 
is  it  that  you  never  paint  the  real,  the  incomparable  real  ?  " 

But  the  friend  whom  Johns  addressed  as  Horace,  a  tall  man 
with  long  curled  hair  and  a  shaven  face,  beside  whom  he  looked 
strangely  dwarfed,  replied — 

"John,  dear  John,  reality  does  not  exist.  Reality  is  one  o( 
those  chimeras  which  are  forged  by  the  middle  classes  to 
account  for  elephantine  dulness.  Reality,  dear  John,  is  like 
that  obelisk,  an  ugly  thing,  a  thing  inimical  to  art.  Do  you 
think  Praxiteles  or  any  of  the  divine  Greeks  descended  to  the 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  24^ 

real  ?  No,  dear  John,  they  worshipped  at  the  perennial  font  of 
fantasy.  Ah,  no !  ah,  no !  In  this  land  of  grocerdom  it  is 
not  substance  we  must  cultivate,  but  artifice.  We  are  surfeited 
with  realism.  Our  lives  in  this  city  of  brute  commerce  are 
made  burdensome  with  the  hideousness  of  trade;  we  are 
submerged  in  a  repugnant  sea  of  barter.  Our  sense  of  beauty 
is  ever  lacerated.  Look  at  the  lovely  flower  which  for  a  brief 
day  is  living  with  me  in  my  button -hole!  Do  not  its  tender 
petals,  so  reposeful  in  their  pallor,  seem  to  shrink  from  the 
crude  brutality  of  yonder  land  of  ugliness  ?  Is  it  not  so  perfect 
that  it  deserves  the  praise  of  being  called  unreal?" 

As  he  said  this,  he  thrust  his  large  fleshy  hand  beneath 
the  lappet  of  his  coat,  and  raised  the  flower  to  his  lips, 
exclaiming  rapturously — 

"Sweet  emblem  of  immaculate  perfection,  no  stockbroker 
possesses  you !  You  are  resting  your  sweet  beauty  on  the 
breast  of  culture !  Your  radiance  is  enjoyed  by  one  whose 
senses  vibrate  only  for  true  loveliness,  whose  soul  lives  on 
Parnassian  slopes,  for  whom  the  common  herd  must  ever  be  as 
dross !  Ah,  there's  nothing  in  the  world  so  beautiful  as  the 
unreal ! " 

Johns  had  listened  to  this  panegyric  patiently.  He  knew, 
like  everybody,  the  nature  of  the  man ;  that  he  had  a  band  of 
followers  who  worshipped  him,  a  woman  here  and  there  in 
London  whose  thoughts  and  feelings  he  had  utterly  capsized, 
and  for  some  reason  which  no  one  had  ever  clearly  understood, 
ne  professed  to  think  him  a  great  genius,  and  supported  him  in 
his  habitual  arraignment  of  the  middle  classes,  at  whom  he  had, 
himself,  so  often  tilted.     He  answered — 

"  My  good  Horace,  I  agree  with  you.  In  principle  I  myself 
detest  vulgarity,  but  what  I  meant  to  say  was  that  there  was 
beauty  in  that  Turneresqueness.  Those  chimneys,  as  I  see 
them  now,  seem  anything  but  mean.  Look  at  them  once  again, 
Horace.  Observe  the  majesty  with  which  they  rise  up  to  the 
sky,  the  grand  unrolling  of  the  smoke-cloud  which  issues  from 
the  orifice,  and  tell  me  if  you  do  not  think  those  chimneys  are 
suggestive  of  idealisms  such  as  not  even  that  narcissus  in  your 
button-hole  can  give." 

As  he  said  this,  Johns  made  the  poet  stop.  Then,  waving  his 
hand  in  a  wave  which  embraced  all  that  was  visible  of  the 
other  bank,  he  cried  in  a  vinous  voice — 

"  Say,  is  it  not  superb  ?  " 

The  poet,  clutching  his  companion's  arm  and  leaning  on  it, 
looked  across  the  river,  down  which  a  steamer,  full  of  passenger^ 
was  gliding  rapidly. 
R 


U2  THE  ADVENTURES 

"John,  dear  John,  I  see  but  chimneys,  chimneyj — ugly 
chimneys  and  a  nasty  boat." 

"Then,  to-day  you're  blind,  Horace." 

"  I'm  not  blind,  John,  to-day." 

"I  say  that  they're  ideal  chimneys  !" 

"  And  I  that  they  are  not ! " 

They  stood  gazing  at  the  river,  unable  to  proceed  further 
with  their  argument,  when  they  suddenly  became  conscious 
that  an  old  man  in  black,  with  white  hair  and  a  shrunk  face, 
carrying  a  volume  under  his  left  arm,  was  contemplating  them. 

Recognizing  Tarte,  Johns  said — 

"  Well,  Tarte,  what  do  you  think  of  the  artistic  merit  of  those 
chimneys?" 

"  I  think,"  the  old  man  said,  "  that  you're  both  looking  at 
them  through  the  spectacles  of  Bacchus." 

"  Ancient,"  the  poet  said,  "  you  may  be  right,  but  know  that 
the  rare  Falernian  we  have  both  been  quaffing  at  that  palace  of 
delights  above,  is  of  such  potent  virtue  that  its  effect  should  be 
to  call  forth  from  its  votaries  the  choicest  of  their  faculties. 
To-day,  I  regret  to  say,  its  effect  upon  my  friend  has  not  been 
good.  This  afternoon  it  has  impaired  his  vision.  Mine, 
worthy  ancient,  it  has  improved." 

The  old  man  looked  at  them  for  a  moment  silently.  Then, 
with  his  arms  crossed  and  the  volume  brought  more  forward, 
he  commenced — 

"  Oh,  Sybarites !  Oh,  Sybarites  !  You  for  whom  life  is  one 
long  fete,  you  who  taste  the  pleasures  which  are  said  to  make 
life  sweet,  do  you  know  that  I,  an  ancient  as  you  call  me, 
hanging  on  to  life  by  the  slender  thread  of  a  daily  wage,  am 
inclined  to  pity  you  ? 

"  I  find  you  here  on  this  sunny  afternoon,  with  your  faces 
flushed  and  your  minds  adrift,  disputing  about  chimneys  ! 

"  Blind  ?  Yes,  certainly  you're  blind.  You  can  see  no 
farther  than  the  narrow  bounds  of  your  magnificence.  You 
can  conceive  nothing  which  exists  outside  your  luxury.  It  has 
never  occurred  to  you,  my  friends,  to  go  into  that  land  of 
industry  to  see  how  life  is  lived  there.  You  have  never  guessed 
that  there  is  poetry  in  that  place  of  toil.  No,  you  could  not 
see  it  if  you  went.  You  could  not  see  it,  because  you  have 
not  measured  life  with  the  true  measure — the  measure  of 
necessity.  To  you  it  seems  of  moment  whether  there  is  or  is 
not  an  artistic  motive  in  that  smoke,  but  I  tell  you  that  life, 
hard,  struggling  life  is  there,  that  poverty  is  there,  that  misery 
is  there, '  and  that  is  what  makes  it  of  more  interest  than 
smoke. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  a4.^ 

"  Will  you  ever  learn  that  there  is  something  more  than  an 
in  life,  that  the  vast  majority  of  men  and  women  do  not  know 
it,  that  they  only  live  to  feed  and  clothe  their  bodies  ?  Ah, 
yes,  I  say  to  you  that  if  you  let  art  take  too  much  room  in  life, 
you  will  fall  victims  to  it.  When  the  tree  of  culture  has  been 
climbed  until  the  top  is  reached,  a  fall  is  imminent,  and  that 
fall  is  often  into  the  pond  of  incoherence.  Sometimes  the 
road  of  the  cultured  hedonist  leads  to  Bedlam,  sometimes  it 
leads  to  Newgate,  and  in  neither  of  those  places  are  the  muses 
wooed,  my  friends.  If  either  of  you  take  one  or  the  other  of 
those  roads,  you'll  be  worse  off  than  I,  the  Philistine,  whose 
days  are  destined  to  be  ended  in  a  select  establishment  of 
paupers. 

"  If  you  knew  how  empty  life  can  seem  to  a  man  like  me 
who  knows  it !  If  you  knew  how  useless  all  of  you  appear  to 
me,  and  how  I  see  the  pleasures  which  you  prize — I  who  yet 
have  never  tasted  one  of  them  !  Do  not  think  that  envy 
prompts  me.  I  envy  no  man.  Life  passes  before  my  eyes  as 
a  race  to  annihilation.  I  don't  know  whence  I  came ;  I  have 
no  knowledge  whither  I  may  go  when  my  organism  ends.  I 
desire  nothing,  I  hope  nothing,  and  I  fear  nothing.  Long 
ago  I  would  have  retired  from  the  game  had  not  my 
meagre  pittance  served  to  keep  alive  another,  more  attached 
to  life  than  I. 

"  But  yesterday  I  buried  her,  and  now  death  is  not  far  from 
me.  I  feel  it  in  the  air,  it  whispers  warnings  in  my  ears.  I 
see  it  in  my  mirror,  and  I  feel  it  in  my  gait.  Perhaps  it  will 
overtake  me  before  I  reach  that  home  of  indigence  in  the 
sweet  Surrey  hills  where  a  man  can  feel  himself  decay  in  ease. 
Whenever  it  may  be,  I'm  ready.  If  there  be  a  God,  as  this 
old  missal,  which  I've  bought  for  sixpence,  says  there  is,  he 
ought  to  think  me  a  deserving  person  ;  for  I  have  never 
sinned.  My  body  will  leave  the  world  as  pure  as  it  came  into 
it.  Oh,  Sybarites,  remember  that  pleasure,  culture,  art,  are  mere 
delusions  fraught  with  peril ! " 

Saying  this,  without  even  taking  leave,  and  after  placing  his 
russet  volume  under  his  arm  again,  he  moved  away,  leaving 
them  to  their  reflections.     After  a  moment  the  poet  asked — 

"  Who  is  that  melancholy  person  ?  " 

Johns  answered,  "Oh,  only  an  old  devil  on  an  evening 
paper." 

••He  is  an  example,"  pursued  the  poet,  •'of  the  infirmity  of 
sense  -  perception  which  afflicts  some  men  who  have  never 
known  the  higher  things.  I  shall  write  a  poem  on  his  singular 
perversity." 


144  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  did  not  reply,  and  they  resumed  their  walk. 

In  a  few  moments  they  reached  a  turning  leading  to  the 
Strand,  and  here  they  parted. 

But  the  words  of  Tarte  had  caused  Johns  to  stop  and  think, 
and  to  take  himself  to  task.  He  was  slipping  into  foolish 
habits,  into  habits  which,  if  not  stopped  in  time,  might  make  a 
slave  of  him.  Rather  than  be  tied  to  liquor,  he  would  put 
himself  upon  cold  water.  There  was  some  truth  in  what  old 
Tarte  had  said ;  there  was  a  danger  of  getting  soft  in  leading 
this  emollient  life  of  pleasure.  He  must  pull  himself  together, 
discipline  himself.  He  wanted  to  climb  higher,  not  to  descend 
lower.  He  realized  that  there  was  something  wise  enough  in 
the  practice  of  respectability,  and  that  Bohemianism  was  a 
dissolvent  he  would  do  better  to  avoid. 

Horace  was  very  well  in  his  own  way,  but  he  wasn't  a  man 
to  be  seen  with  often,  for  though  he  had  the  thoughts  and 
bearing  of  a  genius,  and  though  he  (Johns)  had  pronounced 
him  to  be  one,  there  was  an  instability  about  the  man  which 
made  him  a  person  to  be  frequented  with  caution.  Moral 
unconsciousness  might  be  very  well,  but  there  was  a  way  in 
things,  and  Horace,  with  his  vices  and  his  mannerisms,  went 
too  far.  In  short,  he  recognized  that  there  was  danger  not 
only  in  the  companionship  of  Horace,  but  also  in  the  band  of 
casual  inebriates  whom,  in  his  tcedium  vita,  he  had  gathered 
round  him.  A  change  there  must  be.  Johns  ordered  it,  and 
it  was  Johns's  duty  to  obey. 

Henceforward  he  placed  himself  upon  a  regime  of  a  pint  of 
claret  daily,  and  when  his  cup  companions  called,  he  was 
invariably  "out." 

In  the  meantime  his  wife's  convalescence  proceeded  slowly. 
Each  day  he  was  forced  to  spend  a  few  hours  with  her, 
listening  to  the  projects  for  the  future  which  she  was  always 
making  as  she  lay  upon  her  back  in  the  French  sofa-chair. 
They  would  not  leave  England  for  the  Continent  until  the 
winter,  when  they  would  spend  six  months  on  the  Riviera. 
There  she  would  soon  regain  her  strength,  and  he  would  see 
how  much  better  she  would  look  now  that  a  weight  was  off  her 
mind.  He  had  not  known  her  as  she  could  be,  because,  at  first, 
she  had  fancied  he  was  cold  towards  her,  and  a  woman  never 
looked  her  best  when  she  was  troubled.  But  he  had  been  so 
good  when  she  was  ill  that  she  forgave  him  gladly  now.  She 
felt  that  he  would  never  be  unkind  again.  He  knew  how  much 
she  loved  him.  And  he  would  hsten  to  her,  smoking  indolently, 
wondering  whether  there  were  any  bounds  to  the  credulity  of 
women,  and  thinking  that,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  very  great 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  a4S 

achievement  on  his  part,  to  have  persuaded  such  a  silly  woman 
to  become  his  wife. 

And  during  the  weeks  which,  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  he 
was  obliged  to  pass  at  Eastbourne  with  his  wife,  Johns  occupied 
himself  in  riding,  in  conducting  his  Review,  and  in  writing  long 
letters  in  his  finest  prose  to  Edith  Douglas,  whose  father  had 
taken  her  suddenly  to  Norway  before  they  had  had  time  to  say 
good-bye.  He  put  into  those  letters  all  his  admiration,  all  the 
longing  of  his  youth  for  a  consort  who  should  be  young  and 
beautiful.  He  told  her  of  the  illness  of  his  wife,  but  without 
exulting  over  it,  and  with  good  taste,  letting  it  be  seen,  how- 
ever, that  he  was  sorrowful  and  lonely.  And  as  he  poured  into 
these  letters  all  the  tenderness  he  knew,  and  as  in  writing  he 
could  be  particularly  tender,  he  produced  epistles  that  were 
calculated  to  arouse  the  young  girl's  feelings  to  the  utmost. 
He  told  her  he  was  jealous  of  the  people  she  would  meet  in  her 
journey  to  the  North,  jealous  of  the  merest  stranger  who  would 
be  struck  with  admiration  at  her  beauty,  jealous  of  the  midnight 
sun  which  was  destined  to  behold  it.  Ah,  why  had  he  not  met 
her  sooner  ?  Why  was  there  this  barrier  between  them  ?  For 
how  long  would  they  be  separated  thus  ?  He  was  tortured  at 
the  thought  that  she  would  be  induced  to  become  engaged  in 
spite  of  her  resolve,  and  he  vowed  that  if  she  did,  he  would 

break  his  bonds,  and  then — ah,  then !  But  yet  there  might 

be  happiness  in  store  for  them.  It  was  not  certain  that  he 
would  be  for  ever  tied.  He  had  some  information  which  he 
could  not  well  impart,  but  which  contained  a  possibility  of 
something  happening  which  would  make  him  free.  But  he 
scarcely  dared  to  think  of  it.     The  issue  was  too  great. 

And  in  reality  he  was  in  love  with  her,  far  more  in  love  than 
he  had  ever  been  before,  chiefly  because  she  resisted  him, 
because  of  her  quiet  air  of  candour,  and  of  her  bright  intelli- 
gence, which  was  so  distinctly  feminine.  Yes,  she  was  the  true 
embodiment  of  the  ideal  he  had  always  formed. 

She  answered  him  with  more  fervour  than  she  had  shown 
before,  letting  her  strong  attachment  be  apparent  in  every  line 
she  wrote,  but  delicately,  and  with  a  half  malicious  coyness. 
Her  descriptions  of  the  places  she  had  visited  and  the  incidents 
of  the  journey  they  were  making  were  full  of  charm  and  fresh- 
ness, and  they  were  made  with  that  woman's  touch  which  men 
can  never  imitate.  This  correspondence  was  a  change  for 
Johns,  tired  as  he  was  of  easy  conquests,  and  it  served  to 
render  life  endurable  at  an  hotel  full  of  uninteresting  people. 
His  wife,  delighted  at  the  resignation  which  he  showed,  made 
brave  attempts  to  regain  her  health.     But  her  recovery  was 


«46  THE  ADVENTURES 

slow,  and  neither  the  long  drives  she  took  each  day  on  the 
coast  roads  and  along  the  front  nor  the  care  she  bestowed 
upon  herself  advanced  it  much.  She  still  looked  aged  and 
worn,  and  she  was  so  well  aware  of  this,  that  when  Johns 
assured  her  she  was  looking  better,  she  shook  her  head — a 
circumstance  which  caused  him  to  reflect,  "  She  can^t  be  well  if 
she  isn't  ready  to  admit  it."  But  after  they  had  passed  six 
weeks  thus,  Mrs.  Johns  declared  that  Eastbourne  did  not  suit 
her,  and  that  she  would  like  to  return  to  town.  Johns 
acquiesced,  the  more  readily  as  Edith  Douglas  was  returning 
the  same  week,  and  he  wanted  to  see  her  before  he  left  with 
his  wife  for  the  Riviera. 

They  returned,  therefore,  in  the  middle  of  September,  and 
during  the  month  preceding  their  departure,  they  lived  very 
quietly,  receiving  only  their  most  intimate  friends.  Mrs.  Johns 
did  not  want  to  undergo  fatigue,  and  Johns  was  busy  with  his  own 
affairs.  He  had  consented  to  this  long  absence,  partly  because 
the  idea  of  the  Riviera  pleased  him,  partly  because  he  did  not 
know  how  he  could  decently  refuse  to  accompany  his  wife  in 
her  condition.  There  were  always  the  Stanfields  to  be  thought 
of,  and  though,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  cordially  detested 
them,  he  recognized  that  they  were  a  power,  and  he  had  a  kind  of 
respect  for  them  as  such. 

But  Edith  Douglas  did  not  return  as  soon  as  he  had  expected. 
Her  father  had  been  taken  ill  on  the  journey  home,  and  she 
had  had  to  remain  many  weeks  at  Christiania  with  him.  Johns, 
in  the  meantime,  consoled  himself  in  the  society  of  Mrs.  Weber, 
whom  he  was  always  glad  to  see  after  an  absence  of  some  length, 
although  he  tired  of  her  when  he  saw  her  too  repeatedly.  She, 
on  her  part,  had  become  reconciled  to  his  infidelity,  and  would 
often  say  to  him,  "  John,  you're  a  faithless  wretch,  but  you'll 
always  return  to  me."  And  he  would  answer,  when  he  was 
in  a  mood  to  be  pleased  with  her,  "  By  God,  Ellen,  I  believe 
you're  right." 

She  represented  to  him  the  perfection  of  ripe  womanhood, 
and  by  comparison  he  had  come  to  know  her  staple  value. 
She  knew  his  habits  also,  and  he  was  well  aware  that  she 
admired  him  sincerely.  Altogether  he  was  glad  when  the 
Wednesday  came — the  day  when  they  generally  met.  Was 
she  faithful  to  him?  He  didn't  know.  He  had  been  told 
that  an  ancient  baronet  was  a  frequent  caller  at  her  house,  and 
tliat  they  had  been  seen  together  in  the  summer  on  the  river ; 
in  fact,  that  the  baronet  had  succeeded  Parker.  But  he 
refrained  from  asking  her,  feeling  that,  after  all,  she  had  a 
right  to  make  provision  for  herself.    He  didn't  wapt  to  stan^  ip 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  447 

the  way  of  her  doing  it.  Besides,  a  man  of  over  sixty  1  What 
did  it  matter  ? 

The  remainder  of  the  time  preceding  his  departure  for  the 
South  was  occupied  in  making  arrangements  for  a  lengthy 
absence,  in  giving  instructions  to  his  lieutenants  for  the  conduct 
of  the  Review,  and  in  winding  up  some  little  love  affairs  which 
had  previously  diverted  him  in  moments  of  caprice. 

At  length,  shortly  before  the  day  fixed  for  the  flight  to  the 
Riviera,  he  received  a  note  from  the  Colonel's  daughter, 
acquainting  him  with  her  return,  and  bidding  him  come  to  see 
her  on  the  Sunday. 

Johns  did  not  need  to  be  asked  twice,  and  when  the  Sunday 
came,  scrupulously  dressed,  after  a  lengthy  consultation  with 
his  valet,  for  whose  experience  in  great  houses  he  had  respect, 
he  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  was  driven  to  Lexham  Gardens. 

As  he  ascended  the  stairs,  preceded  by  the  maid,  his  quick 
eye  was  attracted  by  the  threadbare  patches  in  the  stair  carpets 
which  were  more  or  less  in  keeping  with  the  want  of  luxury  he 
had  previously  observed  throughout  the  house,  and  he  reflected, 
"  It's  a  pity  they're  so  poor."  But  the  thought  was  soon  dis- 
pelled when  he  reached  the  drawing-room  and  found  the  young 
girl  waiting  for  him  alone. 

Never,  since  he  had  known  her,  had  she  looked  so  beautiful. 
A  flush  of  health  was  on  her  slightly  sun-browned  cheeks ;  the 
oval  of  her  face  was  firm  and  perfect;  her  eyes  were  full  of 
lustre,  and  her  figure,  which  had  been  somewhat  over  sUght 
before,  had  become  a  little  rounder,  a  little  more  pronounced. 
She  seemed  to  Johns  the  fairest  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

Advancing  to  where  she  was  seated  on  a  low  sofa,  he  took 
her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  She  said,  with  a  happy 
smile,  "  I'm  truly  glad  to  see  you.  My  father  is  in  his  room, 
and  I  expect  no  visitors,  so  we  can  have  a  long,  long  chat." 

"  For  ten  weeks,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  been  looking  for- 
ward to  this  day."  Then  they  exchanged  confidences.  She 
told  him  all  the  little  incidents  of  travel  which  she  had  omitted 
to  narrate  in  writing,  and  of  the  indisposition  of  her  father — a 
chill  caught  in  an  excursion — which  had  detained  them  at 
Christiania,  and  she  ended  by  confessing  that  the  day  when 
she  had  found  his  letters  waiting  for  her  there,  was  not  the 
least  delightful  of  the  trip.  He  wrote  such  admirable  ones  I 
She  liked  his  letters  as  much  as  his  little  tales.  They  were 
full  of  the  same  personality  and  the  same  charm.  It  was  alone 
worth  travelling  to  receive  such  treats. 

Then  he  told  her  of  his  wife's  convalescence,  of  his  projects 
for  the  conduct  of  his  magazine,  of  his  resolve  to  drop  his 


248  THE  ADVENTURES 

bibulous  companions  as  she  herself  had  advised  him  once  to 
do.  But  when  he  announced  to  her  that  he  was  leaving  with 
his  wife  next  day  for  *^he  whole  winter,  a  look  of  disappointment 
overspread  her  face. 

"For  the  whole  winter!"  she  repeated. 

Yes,  they  would  not  return  until  the  spring.  What  was  he 
to  do  ?  His  wife  was  still  an  invalid,  and  had  entreated  him 
not  to  leave  her  to  the  care  of  strangers.  And  his  wife  was 
his  wife,  and  had,  he  supposed,  some  claim  upon  him.  But 
perhaps  he  would  come  back  before  her.  Perhaps,  if  she 
made  progress,  he  would  return  alone  in  a  few  months'  time, 
and  then  they  would  see  each  other  often.  Then  he  would 
give  a  party  at  his  house — an  original  kind  of  party,  at  which 
there  would  be  no  hostess,  only  a  dowager  for  propriety — but 
to  which  he  would  invite  none  but  pretty  women,  so  that  she 
might  be  the  queen  among  them — she  whose  beauty  was  so 
unsurpassable.  But  whether  he  returned  or  not,  she  must  not 
despair.  He  had  written  her  that  he  possessed  some  knowledge 
which  might  alter  destiny  for  them,  and  she  would  understand 
its  nature  when  he  told  her  that  it  proceeded  from  the  doctor. 
He  knew  she  would  not  like  him  to  say  more. 

"You  understand  me,  Edith,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  reflectively,  " I  understand,  and  you  need 
not  explain.  But,  tell  me,  supposing  that  that  'something' 
happened,  will  you  promise  faithfully  that  you  would  marry 
me?" 

"Promise  you?"  he  repeated,  bending  forward  and  speaking 
low,  "I  pledge  my  life  that  nothing  upon  earth  would  then 
prevent  me  from  making  you  my  wife." 

Then,  drawing  nearer,  he  continued  — 

"  Could  you  for  a  moment  doubt  it  ?  Ah,  you  do  not  know 
how  I  have  thought  and  dreamed  of  you  as  the  only  woman 
who  could  complete  my  life,  the  only  woman  I  could  ever 
Jove !  You  do  not  realize  that  you  have  chained  me  with  the 
gentlest,  yet  the  strongest  of  all  chains,  to  break  which  would 
be  a  crime !  You  have  not  learnt  how  deep  my  passion  is,  or 
you  would  not  ask  me  that !" 

He  looked  so  earnest,  so  sincere,  as  he  murmured  this  in 
impressive  tones,  that,  apparently  convinced  of  his  sincerity, 
she  said — 

"  Forgive  me,  I  believe  you  !  You  need  fear  nothing  while 
you  are  away.     No  one  shall  supplant  you,  John." 

Oh,  how  he  wanted  to  thank  her  for  that  word  !  What  could 
he  do  to  express  his  gratitude?  How  could  he  put  it  into 
words  ? 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  249 

Had  she  been  an  ordinary  woman,  he  would  have  been 
already  by  her  side  reciting  his  little  formula,  but  Edith 
Douglas  was  not  an  ordinary  woman,  and  he  feared  lest  he 
might  spoil  all  by  a  false  move.  He  looked  at  the  vacant 
place  upon  the  sofa,  and  then  entreatingly  at  the  young  girl ; 
but  she,  interpreting  his  gestures,  rose  from  the  place  of  danger 
on  the  couch  and  took  a  chair,  in  which  she  seemed  to  feel  in 
safety. 

"Why  are  you  so  hard?"  he  asked,  his  face  convulsed  with 
unassumed  emotion.  "  Why,  on  this  last  evening  for  so  long, 
am  I  not  allowed  a  respite  from  that  cruel  discipline  ?  " 

"Simply  because  I  happen  to  possess  my  own  notions  of 
some  things,  and  they  forbid  me  to  become  what  is  called  a 
semi-maiden.  It  may  be  that  I'm  old-fashioned,  but  I've  made 
a  very  firm  resolve,  if  I  ever  marry,  to  do  so  without  a  single 
active  flirt  upon  my  conscience." 

He  knew  these  cases  of  feminine  scrupulosity,  and  was  aware 
how  hard  they  were  to  deal  with. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  must  continue  to  regard  you  as  a 
picture  too  rare  and  beautiful  to  touch." 

Without  noticing  this  last  remark  otherwise  than  by  a  little 
frown,  she  said,  **  Tell  me,  have  you  been  good  to  your  wife 
while  she  was  ill  ?  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  you  were 
not.     Poor  woman,  I  have  felt  so  sorry  for  her ! " 

But  he  protested  that  he  had  done  all  that  a  model  husband 
could,  "even,"  he  said,  "at  the  risk  of  earning  too  much 
gratitude." 

"  How  she  must  love  you  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  Johns  answered,  with  a  queer  expression,  "and  that's 
the  worst  of  it." 

She  said,  "  You  see  ambition  must  be  paid  for." 

"  It  must  indeed !  When  I  was  younger  I  imagined  that 
wealth  could  give  me  happiness,  but  I  was  quickly  undeceived. 
Since  I  met  you,  Edith,  I  have  realized  that  money  counts  for 
very  little,  that  beauty  such  as  yours  is  the  only  good.  Ah, 
why  did  we  not  meet  sooner?" 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  she  looked  into  his  face 
intently  as  if  she  were  trying  to  gather  an  impression  from  it. 
At  langth  she  said,  "I  hope  that  those  strange  dark  eyes  of 
yours  are  truthful." 

And  he  remembered  that  evening  in  the  early  days  when 
Mrs.  Weber  had  asked  him  the  same  question.  It  was  curious 
how  women's  minds  all  ran  in  the  same  groove. 

"Is  it  possible,"  he  answered,  "that  you  should  still  have 
doubts  ? " 


•50  THE  ADVENTURES 

Again  she  asked  him  to  forgive  her.  She  oughc  not  tO  be 
so  distrustful.  She  would  try  to  mend.  She  wanted  earnestly 
to  have  confidence. 

Then,  in  an  accent  of  subdued  passion  he  began  to  tell  her 
of  the  bright  dreams  he  sometimes  formed.  With  her  as  nis 
wife,  he  dreamed  of  a  great  political  career,  of  places  conquered 
rapidly  and  brilliantly,  of  the  delights  of  power,  of  the  joys  of 
influence,  of  distinctions  which  would  shed  a  halo  round  her 
beauty,  which  would  make  her  the  most  envied  of  the  women 
of  her  time.  Oh,  it  was  all  planned !  Their  party  wanted  a 
man  like  him,  a  man  who  wasn't  afraid  to  speak  his  mind,  who 
could  hit  hard  when  hard  hitting  was  required,  who  could 
beard  the  lions  of  democracy  and  socialism.  And  in  the  life 
which  he  imagined,  it  would  not  be  all  work.  They  would 
travel  frequently  and  far — not  as  mere  superficial  tourists,  but 
as  persons  to  whom  all  doors  were  open,  for  whose  intelli- 
gence there  were  no  sealed  books.  He  would  show  her 
the  old  world  and  the  new — Italy  with  her  Csesareau  and  her 
Papal  Rome,  her  Veroneses  and  her  Botticellis ;  Greece  with  her 
memories,  her  inalienable  classicity ;  Spain  with  her  semi-Moor- 
ishness,  her  marvellous  Escorial,  her  Murillos,  her  Velazquez. 
Later,  when  the  conquest  of  a  great  position  was  achieved,  they 
would  explore  the  East  and  make  it  yield  to  them  its  secrets 
and  its  charms.  What  a  Ufe  of  infinite  expansion,  of  boundless 
satisfaction,  it  would  be,  and  how  he  loved  to  dream  of  it ! 

She  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  realize  the  picture  he  had  drawn, 
and  then  she  answered,  thoughtfully — 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  glorious  ! " 

"  It  will  happen,  Edith.     I  have  a  presentiment  it  will* 

"Perhaps,"  she  murmured,  dreamily. 

Johns  stayed  talking  to  her  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
when  at  length,  his  rhetoric  exhausted,  he  was  leaving,  she  said 
with  more  earnestness  than  he  had  seen  her  show  before — 

"  Write  to  me  often,  very  often  ! " 

Keeping  her  hand  a  prisoner  in  his,  he  promised  that  he 
would.  He  would  tell  her  everything,  his  thoughts,  his  acts, 
his  joys,  his  sorrows — every  little  incident,  all  that  happened, 
and  as  often  as  he  dared  he  would  send  her  roses  {torn  that 
land  of  flowers. 

But  just  as  he  was  bidding  her  adieu  for  the  last  time,  he 
fancied  suddenly  he  detected  something  in  the  lustre  of  her 
eye,  in  the  intense  expression  of  her  face,  which  seemed 
encouraging. 

Then  suddenly,  without  a  word  of  warning,  and  before  she 
cpvld  resist,  be  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aSi 

"Now,"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  disengaged  herself,  "now, 
whatever  fate  may  have  in  store  for  us,  I  shall  know  that  I 
have  been  the  first  to  press  those  lips." 

Flushed  and  serious,  she  said — 

"  You  would  have  done  better  to  have  refrained." 

"  You're  not  angry  with  me,  Edith  ! " 

"  Not  as  angry  as  I  should  be,  but  not  pleased,  and  don't 
think  you  have  gained  anything.     My  resolution  is  unchanged." 

Falling  on  his  knees  before  her,  he  implored  forgiveness.  He 
had  been  unable  to  resist  a  sudden  impulse  which  had  come 
upon  him  like  an  avalanche,  against  which  his  will  was  power- 
less. Ah,  the  fault  was  not  altogether  his.  Beauty  such  as 
hers  was  not  without  its  perils.  It  could  not  be  always 
passively  beheld.  But  he  would  place  a  curb  upon  himself  in 
future.  She  would  have  nothing  more  to  fear.  Only  he  would 
not  go  from  there  until  she  had  absolved  him. 

With  a  smile  she  told  him  that  she  would  not  absolve  him 
unless  he  rose  at  once.  Then,  springing  to  his  feet  again,  he 
thanked  her  warmly,  and,  after  pressing  her  hand  for  the  last 
time,  he  left. 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  he  was  rolling  in  a  hansom  back  to 
Grosvenor  Place,  he  thought,  "  I  have  been  laying  it  on  thickly 
this  time,  She's  so  superb !  It's  a  pity,  though,  that  they're  so 
poor 


t" 


The  next  day  Johns  and  his  wife  crossed  the  Channel. 

After  a  night  spent  in  Paris,  where  Mrs.  Johns  wished  to 
rest,  they  took  the  train  the  next  evening  at  the  Lyons  terminus 
for  Cannes. 

Carefully  wrapped  in  furs,  although  the  weather  was  not  cold, 
and  thickly  veiled,  Mrs.  Johns,  as  she  stood  upon  the  platform, 
looked  more  than  matronly,  and  Johns  thought,  as  he  glanced 
at  her  amid  the  gay  and  fashionable  crowd  of  people  fleeing 
from  northern  skies  to  the  land  of  sunshine,  that  everyone  must 
take  her  for  his  mother.     Well,  so  much  the  better  if  they  did! 

The  platform  teemed  with  notabilities  in  travelling  costume. 
Near  them  Johns  recognized  the  tall  figure  of  an  ambassador 
whom  he  had  once  met,  and  who  returned  his  bow  with  cold 
politeness.  A  little  further  off,  he  saw  an  eminent  French, 
novelist  whose  works  of  keen  analysis  he  knew.  He  was 
accompanied  by  a  young  and  rising  poet  of  whom  the  French 
Parnassus  had  great  hopes.  An  English  lord,  with  a  numerous 
family  of  sons  and  daughters,  was  standing  before  the  book- 
stall, gay  with  its  wealth  of  yellow  covers,  and  was  buying  the 
London  papers.    Ad  English  general,  who  had  lately  eam^ 


as*  THE  ADVENTURES 

distinction  in  South  Africa,  accompanied  by  a  young  and 
pretty  wife,  was  surveying  the  scene  with  an  expression  ol 
amused  contentment.  At  the  carriage  doors,  friends  and 
relatives  were  taking  leave  in  many  languages,  and  amid  the 
bevy  of  French  ladies,  fitly  and  elegantly  dressed  for  travel- 
ling, there  were  one  or  two  whose  grace  and  beauty  made 
Johns  sigh.  What  would  he  have  given  at  that  moment  to 
have  been  standing  on  that  station  with  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  with  whom  he  was  to  spend  some  happy  months  at 
Cannes ! 

But  the  hour  of  departure  was  at  hand,  and  the  officials  were 
caUing  upon  the  travellers  to  take  their  places.  Those  who  had 
hngered  on  the  platform  now  clambered  up  to  the  high 
carriages  to  take  their  seats.  In  a  few  minutes,  after  a  brief 
discussion  between  the  stationmaster  and  the  guard,  the  signal 
was  given,  and  the  train  crept  slowly  off. 

Johns,  who  had  been  looking  out  of  the  window,  amused  at 
a  parting  scene  between  a  young  Frenchman  and  his  wife  or 
mistress,  felt  himself  touched  upon  the  shoulder.  It  was  Rose 
who  wanted  to  know  which  of  the  berths  in  the  sleeping-car  he 
wished  to  occupy.  What  did  it  matter  to  him  ?  he  answered, 
rather  roughly.  She  must  take  the  one  she  liked.  And  then, 
as  they  were  alone  in  the  compartment,  he  sat  down  dis- 
contentedly,  and  watched  her  make  her  preparations  for  the 
night.  The  sight  of  the  fair  women  on  the  station  had  put 
him  into  a  bad  temper,  and  he  saw  her  open  her  dressing- 
case  and  take  from  it  an  infinity  of  pins  and  puffs  and 
cosmetics,  which  told  their  tale  so  plainly,  with  a  feeling  of 
irritation.  Truly,  he  thought  with  bitterness,  truly  it  was 
lamentable  to  see  her  thus  exhibiting  the  accessories  she  used 
to  hide  her  age,  which  he  had  ascertained  was  nearly  fifty,  just 
as  though  he  had  been  a  husband  who  had  grown  old  with  her, 
and  from  whom  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  hide  anything. 
Oh,  what  tactless  creatures,  after  all,  these  women  were !  But 
she,  as  if  she  had  guessed  his  thoughts,  suddenly  replaced  the 
objects  in  the  dressing-case,  and  continued  to  prepare  for  the 
night's  journey  by  taking  off  her  cloak  and  shoes,  loosening 
her  corset,  and  taking  off  her  skirt.  She  had  refused  to  let  her 
maid  travel  with  her  in  the  sleeping-car,  and  therefore  she  was 
obliged  to  assist  herself. 

Presently,  when  she  had  loosened  her  golden  locks  ana 
sprinkled  some  scent  upon  the  pillow,  she  laid  herself  in  her 
berth,  and,  with  a  tender  accent,  asked  Johns  to  spread  a  rug 
upon  her. 

SlQwlj  be  arranged  the  rug,  and  as  he  was  doing  so  she 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  253 

gazed  at  him  tenderly,  saying  in  the  voice  which  since  her 
illness  had  grown  weaker — 

"  Ah,  John,  I  feel  I  shall  get  strong  again  down  there." 

He  answered  carelessly,  "  Why  not  t " 

He  resumed  his  seat,  and,  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  packet 
of  Parisian  newspapers,  began  to  read  them  by  the  faint  light 
to  put  an  end  to  further  conversation. 

But  after  a  while  she  said,  "  I  feel  so  sleepy,  Johnnie.  Kiss 
me  before  I  go  to  sleep,"  and  he,  suppressing  an  imprecation, 
was  obliged  to  rise  again  and  pretend  to  touch  her  forehead 
with  his  lips.  He  knew  that  he  might  have  refused  to  do  so, 
but  his  experience  had  convinced  him  that  nothing  is  more 
fooUsh  than  to  offend  a  women  for  a  trifling  cause.  There  was 
always  danger  enough  in  doing  so  when  great  issues  were  at 
stake.  For  the  second  time  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  as  the 
train,  which  had  now  acquired  speed,  was  flying  southward, 
shrieking  in  its  course,  he  was  left  to  his  reflections. 

This,  then,  was  the  kind  of  happiness  which  was  to  be 
derived  from  a  marriage  such  as  his !  Here  he  was,  in  the  full 
vigour  of  his  manhood,  condemned  to  travel  and  to  live  with 
a  woman  who  seemed  to  become  more  frivolous,  more  stupid, 
as  the  days  went  by.  This  was  what  riches  without  libertj 
implied  !  If  she  only  had  been  young,  he  would  have  forgiven 
her,  even  if  she  had  been  plain  !  A  young  woman  had  always 
freshness  in  her  favour;  she  spread  around  her  the  subtle 
perfume  of  her  youth,  was  never  altogether  without  charm, 
while  Rose,  that  faded  rose  whose  bloom  had  lasted  for  so  long, 
was  wearisome  to  see.  And  riches  were,  after  all,  so  relative  ! 
It  was  true  that  he  possessed  enough  to  gratify  his  minor 
whims  and  fancies ;  it  was  true  he  Hved  in  a  big  house  and 
was  waited  on  by  many  servants,  but  he  knew  scores  of  richer 
men  than  he,  whose  scope  of  influence  was  immeasurably 
greater  than  his  own.  Had  he  that  potent  prestige  which  men 
possessed  whose  fortunes  caused  them  to  be  respected,  flattered, 
feared  for  the  benefits  that  they  were  able  to  bestow  on  those 
who  won  their  favour?  Did  he  enjoy  that  kind  of  second 
royalty  which  enabled  such  to  force  their  tastes,  their  prejudices, 
upon  the  crowd  ?  No,  certainly,  he  didn't — he  who  could  not 
properly  afford  a  yacht ! 

Tired  at  length  of  these  reflections,  he  continued  reading 
the  Gil  Blas^  a  journal  whose  Gallic  salt  amused  him ;  and  as 
he  read,  he  became  engrossed  in  a  Uttle  story  of  Parisian  life 
told  by  one  of  those  brilliant  artists  of  the  salacious  style  who 
weave  impressionisms  on  the  theme  of  love.  The  writer  had 
depicted,  in  vivid  and   alluritw   colours   an   episode   in   the 


»S4  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

existence  of  a  beautiful  young  peasant  girl  in  one  of  the 
valleys  of  Touraine,  a  lass  who  had  conceived  a  passion  for 
a  mere  lad  too  young  and  naive  at  first  to  be  responsive  to  her 
longing,  but  whom,  by  displaying  all  the  grace  and  beauty  with 
which  she  had  been  gifted,  she  succeeded  at  length  in  dazzling 
and  winning.  The  httle  narrative  breathed  nature  in  its  most 
unvarnished  state,  and  had  a  flavour  of  rustic  freshness  which, 
rendered  with  unerring  skill,  threw  Johns  into  a  pleasant  reverie, 
from  which  he  was  aroused  by  a  dry,  grunting  sound  he  knew 
too  well. 

His  wife  had  fallen  into  a  profound  sleep,  and  in  spite  of  the 
noise  which  the  train  was  making  as  it  rattled  on  the  rails,  her 
snore  was  audible. 

"  Sweet  soul ! "  he  muttered,  as  he  folded  up  the  paper, 
glancing  at  his  wife,  who  was  breathing  with  her  mouth  wide 
open  ;  "  truly  she's  divine." 

Upon  this,  with  a  smile  of  irony  upon  his  lips,  he  divested 
himself  of  his  outer  garments  and  turned  into  his  own  berth. 

The  next  morning  when  he  awoke  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  of  the  car. 

The  dawn  had  broken  over  the  brown  land  of  Provence,  and 
the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  were  shedding  a  weird  light  upon 
the  olive  groves,  upon  the  pale-grey  rocks  and  wastes  of  the 
fleeting  landscape,  upon  the  leaves  of  the  giant  aloes.  Dis- 
pelling the  dark  shadows  projected  by  the  trees  and  hedges, 
the  rays  increased  in  their  intensity  until  the  whole  country  was 
bathed  in  light — in  light  which  was  softened  by  the  sombre 
green  of  the  dark  foliage  and  the  brown  parched  vegetation. 

Now  it  was  a  peaceful  village — stone-walled,  red-tiled — which 
the  train  flew  past  with  a  rapid  whisk,  now  an  ancient  town  of 
Provence  with  its  fortress,  its  cathedral,  and  its  bridge:  then  the 
country  appeared  again. 

Upon  Johns,  who  found  himself  in  it  for  the  first  time,  this 
land  of  troubadours  and  eclogues  produced  a  great  impression. 
He  felt  as  if  he  had  emerged  into  a  region  full  of  promise.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  swift  express  were  bearing  him  towards 
joys  he  had  not  known  before,  towards  some  new  and  bright 
experience  which  had  not  come  to  him  as  yet.  Illusion,  it 
might  be,  but  as  he  gazed  at  these  southern  landscapes,  he  felt 
himself  invigorated. 

But  the  spell,  alas  !  was  broken  when  a  familiar  voice  in  the 
next  berth  murmured — 

"  Where  are  we,  Johnnie  ?  " 


CHAPTER 
SEVENTEENTH 

ON  the  afternoon  of  their  arrival,  Johns,  leaning  over  the 
railing  of  the  balcony  of  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  hotel,  was  looking  at  the  scene  before  him. 

At  his  feet  were  the  grounds  of  the  palatial  building,  with 
their  tall,  thick  pine  trees  diffusing  aromatic  freshness,  their 
fan-shaped  palms  glistening  in  the  sun,  their  flower-beds  and 
lawns.  Beyond,  and  plainly  visible  through  the  opening  amid 
the  trees,  the  great  calm  lake,  placid  as  a  mirror,  vied  with  the 
sky  in  blueness.  At  a  short  distance  from  the  land,  the  island 
of  St.  Marguerite,  with  its  romantic  castle,  its  air  of  solitude 
and  mystery,  was  peacefully  reposing  in  the  waveless  sea, 
oblivious  of  the  white-sailed  fishing-boat  beneath  it,  waiting  for 
a  breeze  to  take  it  past  the  group  of  the  Lerins.  A  little  to  the 
right,  the  mountains  of  the  Esterel,  partly  hidden  by  the  foliage, 
exhibited  their  peaks  bathed  in  a  thousand  shades  of  purple 
and  of  blue.  The  air  was  full  of  fragrance,  and  a  grateful 
stillness  reigned. 

To  Johns,  this  azure  coast  appeared  as  an  earthly  paradise. 
It  was  the  spot  designed,  he  thought,  by  nature,  to  be  the  most 
perfect  of  all  lover's  nooks — a  spot  where  life  could  be  enjoyed 
by  all  the  senses  in  the  highest  measure  of  enjoyment,  where 
women's  beauty  must  be  doubly  beautiful,  where  the  tedium 
and  the  banality  of  life  must  be  unfelt.  Ah,  if  ever  he  were 
free,  how  often  he  would  seek  this  favoured  corner  of  the 
world ! 

As  his  wife,  indisposed  after  the  night  journey,  had  retired, 
he  entered  the  room  again,  intending  to  take  a  stroll,  when  a 
servant  came  to  say  that  a  gentleman  named  St.  George  had 
called.  Somewhat  surprised,  Johns  said  that  he  would  see  the 
gentleman  at  once.    The  man  left,  and  a  moment  afterwards 


»S6  -  THE  ADVENTURES 

St.  George,  attired  in  a  light  grey  suit,  appeared.     He  said,  as 
he  advanced  into  the  room — 

"  I  saw  your  name  just  now,  dear  Johns,  on  the  list  of  visitors 
downstairs,  and  I  came  up." 

Johns,  who  had  not  seen  or  heard  of  his  friend  for  many 
months,  pointing  to  a  seat,  replied — 

"  So  this  was  where  you  were,  you  truant !  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

"  I'm  merely  basking  in  the  sun  like  everyone." 

But  Johns  eyed  him  narrowly. 

"  I  don't  believe,  St.  George,  you're  only  here  for  that.  Are 
you  sure  you're  quite  alone  ?  " 

"Oh,  quite." 

"You're  mysterious,  St.  George!" 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  by  way  of  answer,  asked, 
"  How  is  Mrs.  Johns  ?  " 

"She's  pretty  well,  thanks.  She's  restmg  after  last  night's 
journey.  But  you've  not  yet  told  me  what  you're  doing  here, 
you  rogue ! " 

St.  George  looked  round  the  little  room,  with  its  gilded  clock 
upon  the  mantel,  its  fluted  ceiling,  and  its  yellow  hangings  and 
upholstery.  Then,  after  a  few  moments'  hesitation,  he  burst 
out — 

"  Why  should  I  hesitate  to  tell  you,  Johns  ?  We're  old 
friends  and  can  trust  each  other.  Listen.  Things  have  not  been 
going  very  well  for  me  of  late.  Since  I  was  refused  by  Edith 
Douglas,  I've  been  floating  about  the  world  in  a  rather  moody 
frame  of  mind,  and  spending  and  losing  a  lot  of  money.  Ai 
Monte  Carlo  I  lost  ;^7ooo,  and  a  dramatic  lady,  of  whom  I  was 
naive  enough  to  be  enamoured,  relieved  me,  in  one  way  and 
another,  of  nearly  half  as  much  again,  so  that,  as  I  was  never  a 
rich  man,  I'm  reduced  now  to  the  bare  necessities.  But  a 
little  while  ago,  as  I  was  finishing  the  summer  at  Montreux, 
thinking  what  a  fool  I'd  been,  I  met  a  family  who  interested 
me  greatly.  The  family  was  composed  of  two — a  father  and  an 
only  daughter.  The  father,  I  soon  learnt,  was  a  financial . 
person  who  had  retired  from  business  with  a  million.  The 
daughter  was  a  little  girl  of  about  twenty,  with  a  pleasant  face 
and  pjenty  of  accomplishments.  Well,  to  cut  my  story  short,  I 
did  my  best  at  once  to  enter  into  the  good  graces  of  these 
favoured  people,  and  I  was  so  successful,  that  when  they 
announced  their  intention  of  passing  the  winter  at  Cannes,  I 
announced  mine  of  following  their  example.  At  the  present 
moment  we're  all  staying  at  this  hotel,  and  as  I've  become  a 
coavert  to  jour  doctrines  about  money,  and  the  little  heiress  is 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  j»57 

not  altogether  unattractive,  I'm  laying  a  patient  siege  to  her 
aflfections.     Now  you  know  why  I  am  here." 

Johns  had  been  listening  to  this  speech  with  marked  attention, 
moving  once  or  twice  in  his  chair  restlessly  while  doing  so,  con- 
scious of  a  feeling  of  uneasiness,  almost  of  envy,  for  the  prize 
which  was  perhaps  about  to  fall  to  his  friend  St.  George. 
Without  letting  his  thoughts  betray  themselves,  however,  he 
said — 

'•  Well,  St.  George,  I  wish  you  luck." 

"  I  knew  you  would,  Johns.  But  not  a  word  to  anyone  of 
what  I've  told  you." 

"  Of  course  not.     Not  a  syllable." 

And  then  St.  George,  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm,  told 
his  friend  of  the  excursions  he  had  made  with  Miss  Wilson  and 
her  father,  of  the  evening  talks  upon  the  terrace,  and  of  their 
games  of  draughts  in  the  salon  afterwards — of  his  hopes,  in  short, 
that  he  would  be  accepted  when  he  judged  the  moment 
opportune  to  ask  her  hand.  Johns  smiled  approvingly,  and 
remarked  with  apparent  unconcern — 

"  And  you  say  the  father  is  a  millionaire  ?  " 

"  More  than  a  millionaire.  He  made  a  colossal  stroke  ten 
years  ago,  and  he's  lived  like  a  prince  since  then.  Besides  a 
fine  house  in  Park  Lane,  they've  a  perfect  castle  in  North- 
amptonshire, and  she's  the  only  child." 

"  And  so  you  think  you're  on  the  right  track,  St.  George  ?  " 

"I  hope  so,  Johns;  there's  only  the  father,  who  is  a  httle 
hard  to  please." 

For  a  few  moments  Johns  was  silent.  Then  he  handed 
to  his  friend  the  box  of  cigarettes  which  was  lying  on  the 
table.  St.  George  took  a  cigarette,  and  they  resumed  the 
conversation,  which  drifted  to  other  subjects.  But  when 
St,  George  had  been  there  half  an  hour,  he  looked  up 
suddenly  at  the  clock  upon  the  mantel  and  exclaimed,  as 
he  rose  from  his  chair — 

"  It's  time  for  the  promenade.  She's  sure  to  be  there  this 
afternoon,  and  I  wouldn't  miss  her  for  the  world." 

Johns,  rising  also,  answered — 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  St.  George.  I'm  curious  to  see  this  little 
person." 

St.  George  expressed  himself  delighted,  although  he  scarcely 
looked  so,  and  they  left. 

Passing  out  by  the  side  door  of  the  hotel,  they  took  the  road 

which  led  to  the  old  town,  and  walked  along  arm-in-arm.     St. 

George,  chatting  gaily,  pointed  out  the  celebrities  they  met — the 

princes,  the  grand   dukes,  and   the  heirs -apparent   (some  of 

s 


aS8  THE  ADVENTURES 

whom  Johns  knew  by  sight),  and  the  galaxy  of  minor  stars  who 
follow  in  their  wake. 

About  each  he  had  an  anecdote  to  tell,  some  little  scandal 
he  had  heard  since  he  had  been  at  Cannes,  or  some  gossip  he 
had  gleaned  about  the  Prince. 

And  Johns  listened,  interested,  for,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
he  had  a  lurking  admiration  for  royal  persons — the  respectful 
admiration  of  the  lower  classes  for  people  of  high  birth.  At 
the  street  corners,  and  at  different  points  along  the  route,  they 
met  ambassadors  and  statesmen,  potentates  and  artists,  poets 
and  financiers,  some  accompanied  by  ladies,  and  all  wearing 
that  indulgent,  self- contented  air  which  the  Riviera  seems  to 
lend. 

Johns,  amid  this  collection  of  celebrities,  felt  himself 
suddenly  belittled,  and  realized  acutely,  for  a  moment,  how 
very  small  his  own  position  was,  compared  with  that  of  the 
majority  of  these  great  people.  If  he  were  only  really  rich  as 
they !     But  no,  he  felt  he  was  a  very  minor  figure  there. 

Passing  by  the  old  harbour,  they  reached  the  commencement 
of  the  Croisette,  the  crescent-shaped  promenade  which  curves 
so  picturesquely. 

The  first  person  whom  they  met  was  a  lady  they  both  knew 
well.  She  was  middle-aged,  rigid  in  her  bearing,  and  her  face, 
the  colour  of  old  parchment,  wore  a  judicial  look  about  its  lower 
portion  and  was  curiously  relieved  by  a  pair  of  light  blue  eyes. 
The  two  friends  recognized  the  semi -comic  physiognomy  of 
Lady  Vieille,  who,  they  both  knew,  bore  a  well-earned  reputa- 
tion for  excessive  rudeness.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  girl 
of  about  sixteen,  who  seemed  to  be  her  daughter. 

Johns  whispered  to  his  companion,  "  Don't  stop,"  and  they 
passed  along,  raising  their  hats  and  bowing  rather  low,  for  they 
both  knew  that  Lady  Vieille,  who  dabbled  in  literature  and 
who  had  some  sort  of  a  literary  drawing-room,  was  apt  to  be 
vindicitive. 

And  St.  George,  after  they  had  passed,  told  Johns  laughingly 
of  the  lady's  latest  freak,  that  of  inviting  stray  acquaintances  to 
lunch  any  day  they  liked  to  choose,  and  then,  when  any- 
body not  of  primary  importance  was  foolish  enough  to  go  to 
Harvey  Street  on  such  an  invitation,  to  request  him,  through 
the  butler,  to  be  good  enough  to  come  again  another  day. 

Johns  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Then  they  met  the  owner  of  a  New  York  journal,  a  tall  man 
with  a  red  faee,  who  was  leading  by  a  string  a  little  dog  whose 
body-cloth  was  studded  with  precious  stones.  St.  George 
explained  that   if  this  eccentric  millionaire  was  there  that 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  959 

evening,  "the  Prince,"  whom  he  worshipped,  must  be  expected 
on  the  promenade. 

Contemptuously,  Johns  said,  "  Poor  snob  ! " 

But  the  sun  had  begun  to  set  in  a  conflagration  of  intense 
beauty.  Its  glowing  rays  penetrated  far  into  the  deep  blue 
sky  above,  and  were  reflected  on  the  leaves  of  the  palm  trees 
in  the  plantations,  upon  the  walls  of  the  old  fortress  in  the 
distance,  and  upon  the  faces  of  the  promenaders.  Everything 
which  met  the  eye  was  softened,  was  transfigured.  For  a  few 
moments  of  extreme  splendour  the  scene  was  of  such  striking 
beauty  that  it  caused  Johns  to  ejaculate — 

"  By  God,  how  fine ! " 

St.  George  said,  *'  Isn't  it ! "  and  they  walked  along  in  silence 
for  some  distance.  Then,  as  they  were  approaching  the 
extremity  of  the  Croisette,  St.  George  suddenly  pressed  his 
friend's  arm  and  said  in  a  low  though  excited  tone — 

"  Here  they  are.     They're  coming." 

A  few  yards  in  front  of  them,  a  young  girl,  rather  below  the 
average  height,  with  a  round  healthy  face,  a  Httle  nose  inclining 
upwards,  a  small  and  rather  well-arched  mouth,  a  pair  of  inex- 
pressive dark-brown  eyes  and  hair  to  match,  was  accompanying 
a  short  stout  man  of  about  sixty,  whose  light,  pointed  beard,  was 
turning  grey  and  beginning  to  give  a  stamp  of  age  to  a  some- 
what plebeian  set  of  features,  mainly  expressive  of  prudent 
foresight.  The  daughter  was  admirably  dressed  in  a  perfectly- 
fitting  brown  costume,  with  a  straw  hat  of  the  same  colour 
half-hidden  beneath  a  veritable  garden  of  well-blended  flowers. 
The  father  wore  a  short  dark  double-breasted  coat,  rather  light 
check  trousers,  and  a  soft  felt  hat.  St.  George  shook  hands 
with  each  in  turn,  cordially  with  the  young  girl,  but  rather 
timidly  with  the  father.     After  this  he  introduced  his  friend. 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Johns,  the  editor  of  the  Centenary  Review.^^ 

Johns  made  a  profound  bow  to  the  father  and  the  daughter, 
which  was  returned  politely.  Then,  after  a  few  words,  as  they 
were  all  returning  the  same  way,  the  party  divided  itself 
naturally  into  pairs.  St.  George  and  the  young  girl  went  on  in 
front ;  Johns  and  the  father  followed. 

Johns,  not  knowing  with  what  theme  to  break  the  ice,  started 
that  of  Cannes,  asking  the  father's  opinion  of  the  hotel  at  which 
they  were  both  staying,  what  he  thought  of  the  climate  of  the 
Riviera,  and  which  were  the  best  drives  in  the  vicinity.  He 
appeared  to  attach  much  weight  to  the  answers  he  received, 
although  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  St.  George  and  his  com- 
panion, trying  to  discover,  from  what  he  could  see  of  the 
expression.s  of  their  faces,  on  what  terms  they  were.     The 


s6o  THE  ADVENTURES 

father,  Johns  noticed,  maintained  a  species  of  reserve  which 
somewhat  disconcerted  him,  and  made  him  wonder  if  the 
millionaire  had  heard  any  ol  the  stories  which  he  knew  were 
floating  about  London  as  to  his  career.  But  no,  most 
probably  he  was  a  dry  Saxon  whose  words  had  to  be  pulled 
out  of  him  one  by  one.     He  knew  the  type,  he  fancied. 

"  Are  you  here  alone  ?  "  the  elderly  man  inquired,  after  they 
had  exhausted  local  topics. 

"  No,"  Johns  answered  calmly,  watching  the  effect  his  words 
produced,  "  my  wife  is  with  me,  only  she's  somewhat  indis- 
posed this  afternoon." 

After  a  moment,  when  he  had  seen  Miss  Wilson  look  up  at 
St.  George  with  a  glance  of  sympathy,  he  added — 

"My  wife,  Mr.  Wilson,  is  very  fond  of  young  society,  she 
will  be  glad  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  daughter." 

Wilson  answered,  in  a  more  amiable  tone  than  he  had 
hitherto  adopted — 

"  My  daughter  will,  I'm  sure,  be  pleased." 

They  continued  thus,  until  they  reached  the  end  of  the 
Croisette.  By  this  time  the  promenade  was  nearly  empty,  and 
the  island  of  St.  Honorat  was  beginning  to  look  dark  in  the 
waning  light. 

Consulting  his  watch,  Wilson  said  that  it  was  growing  late, 
and  they  started  on  their  way  back  to  the  hotel  still  in  the 
same  order.  During  the  walk  Wilson  sufficiently  unbended 
to  give  Johns  a  description  of  the  visit  he  had  paid  to  Egypt 
the  previous  winter,  when  he  had  been  decorated  by  the 
Khedive  for  the  presents  he  had  made  of  English  cattle  to 
improve  the  native  breed,  and  Johns,  who  knew  something 
about  cattle,  was  able  to  make  apposite  remarks. 

When  they  reached  the  hall  of  the  hotel  they  separated, 
agreeing  to  meet  again  at  dinner. 

"Well,"  said  St.  George,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "what 
do  you  think  of  them  ?  " 

"Oh,  merely  ordinary  people,  apart  from  what  you  say 
they're  worth.  I  should  think,  St.  George,  she'd  be  an  easy 
conquest." 

St.  George  looked  slightly  dubious.  He  said,  "With  the 
daughter  I'm  getting  on  very  well,  but  the  father's  a  terrible 
old  man,  and  gives  me  hints  sometimes  that  he  has  higher 
aims.     He  positively  makes  me  nervous." 

"  Timid  fool ! "  thought  Johns,  and  saying  that  he  must  go 
up  to  his  wife,  he  left  St.  George  to  his  reflections. 

Johns  found  his  wife  still  in  her  room,  a  large  square  room, 
elegantly  furnished,  where  he  bad  left  her  in  the  afternoon. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  «6i 

She  was  lying  on  her  bed  covered  over  with  a  rug,  and  her 
face,  as  Johns  observed  it  against  the  dark  red  curtains  of 
the  French  bedstead,  looked  pale  and  worn. 

"  Well,  Rose,"  he  said,  indulgently,  "  how  are  you  feeling 
now?" 

She  said  that  she  was  better,  that  she  would  be  quite  well 
the  next  day.  But  she  would  not  dine  with  him  at  the 
tabk  d'hSte  that  evening,  as  her  mirror  told  her  she  was 
not  looking  at  her  best. 

"We  women,  you  know,  dear  John,  are  a  little  sensitive 
about  our  looks." 

He  said,  "Quite  right,  Rose,  it's  better  to  rest  to-day,  and 
surprise  us  all  to-morrow." 

Then  he  told  her  of  St.  George's  visit,  of  his  walk  with  him, 
and  of  these  Wilsons  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced,  whom 
he  was  certain  she  would  like,  and  who  owned  one  of  those 
fine  fortunes  which  gave  them,  in  spite  of  their  mediocrity,  a 
certain  standing.  The  little  girl  was  not  exactly  pretty,  but 
she  seemed  to  have  pleasant  manners.  It  would  be  well  to 
make  friends  with  them. 

Mrs.  Johns  said  she  would  be  glad  to  know  the  Wilsons, 
especially  as  they  were  staying  at  the  hotel. 

Johns  then  passed  into  his  own  room.  There  he  dressed. 
And  he  hurried  down  again  as  the  hall  bell  was  ringing. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  long  and  lofty  dining-room,  with  its 
high  curtained  windows,  its  palms,  and  its  lengthy  table  decked 
with  fruit  and  flowers,  Johns  met  the  Wilsons  and  St.  George. 
He  explained  his  wife's  absence  on  the  score  of  slight 
indisposition,  and  Wilson  said — 

"  We  have  a  reserved  table  in  the  comer,  Mr.  Johns,  and  if 
you  will  share  it  with  us  we  shall  be  pleased." 

The  daughter,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  seemed  to  second  her 
father's  invitation,  and  Johns  readily  accepted.  The  Wilsons* 
table  was  a  small  one  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  long  room. 
Johns,  seated  on  the  right  hand  of  Wilson,  faced  the  dark 
young  girl,  who  was  tastefully  attired  in  a  high  dinner  dress 
with  a  profusion  of  bows  and  ribbons.  From  where  he  was 
was  placed,  he  could  see  the  entire  room.  More  than  two- 
thirds  of  the  visitors,  he  perceived  at  once,  were  English. 
The  remainder,  chiefly  French,  were  clustered  together  as  if  for 
mutual  support  at  the  end  of  the  table  near  the  door,  looking 
like  travellers  in  a  strange  country — the  sound  of  their  native 
tongue  being  drowned  in  the  greater  din  of  English  voices. 
The  men  among  them  were  particularized  by  being  in  frock 
coats,  while  the  Englishmen  were  nearly  all  in  evening  dress. 


s6a  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  saw,  to  his  satisfaction,  that  a  little  sensation  had  been 
caused  in  the  English  section  on  his  entrance,  and  that  many 
a  glance  was  directed  towards  him.  He  had  been  recognized, 
was  known.     Nothing  could  cause  him  greater  satisfaction. 

During  the  dinner,  while  the  long  menu  was  being  served 
under  the  stern  eye  of  the  maitre  (Vhotd,  Johns  allowed  the 
conversation  to  drift  on  generalities,  often  engaging  in  a 
colloquy  with  Wilson  upon  finance  or  agriculture,  while 
St.  George  talked  with  his  neighbour  upon  what  was  happening 
at  Cannes. 

Throughout  the  meal,  however,  Johns  glanced  at  Miss 
Wilson,  now  and  then  with  a  sympathetic,  half- melancholy 
reflective  glance,  as  if  he  were  thinking  over  the  destiny  in 
store  for  her  in  life,  and  sometimes,  as  their  eyes  met,  she 
would  look  down  quickly,  shyly.  Johns  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  nature  of  the  ordinary  woman  resembled 
that  of  the  well-bred  domestic  cat,  wrongly  considered  spiteful. 
The  furry  puss  was  charming;  exhibited  her  playfulness  and 
pretty  ways  to  those  who  took  the  pains  to  win  her 
confidence  by  appearing  to  be  kind  and  just  to  her,  not 
disturbing  her  too  much  in  any  of  her  little  comforts,  never 
being  harsh  or  boisterous,  always  natural.  But  if  by  chance 
she  once  lost  confidence,  then  she  recoiled  into  her  own  self 
like  a  snail  into  its  shell,  and  it  was  a  hard  matter  to  win  back 
her  favour.  And  so,  Johns  had  come  to  think,  it  was  with 
women  who  were  really  women — women  who  had  the  instincts 
and  the  foibles  of  their  sex.  So,  at  least,  he  had  always 
found  them. 

To  create  a  good  impression,  and  in  some  speculative  way  he 
wanted  that  evening  to  create  one,  was  always  a  delicate,  nice 
task.  A  single  error,  a  single  breath  of  ridicule  was  often  fatal 
— so  intuitive  were  women.  Thus  he  desired  to  tread  cautiously, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  dessert  appeared,  and  the  theme  of 
books  had  been  introduced,  that  an  opportunity  occurred. 

Miss  Wilson,  in  her  little  girlish  voice,  had  laughingly  enquired 
of  anyone  who  cared  to  answer,  what  was  thought  of  Clara 
Baroletti's  novels.  She,  for  one,  did  not  like  such  visionary 
books.  She  had  plainly  told  the  authoress  as  much  when  she 
had  met  her  a  few  days  before  in  the  villa  of  some  friends,  and 
she  feared  she  had  offended  her. 

Johns,  sitting  upright  in  his  chair,  as  he  did  when  he  meant 
to  be  impressive,  said,  "Ah,  Miss  Wilson,  how  well  can  I 
understand  that  you,  with  your  evident  good  sense  and  clear 
perceptions,  should  repudiate  such  mystic  vagaries.  For  you, 
as  I  judge  you,  there  can  only  be  one  style,  the  old  and  ever 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  263 

new,  the  bright  and  charming  tale  of  nature.  You  love  the 
style  which  elegantly  renders  all  the  primary  aflfections,  joys, 
and  sorrows  of  our  lives,  always  without  affectation,  without 
pose.  Your  taste  enables  you  to  readily  distinguish  what  is 
frank  and  fresh,  sincere,  harmonious  in  art,  from  what  is 
artificial,  forced,  unfelt.  You  are  able  to  enjoy  the  perfume 
which  all  real  works  of  art  give  forth  as  surely  as  a  rose 
gives  forth  its  scent.  Ah,  Miss  Wilson,  that  style  will  live 
when  the  books  of  all  the  Barolettis  that  our  island  rears,  are 
relegated  to  the  Umbo  of  forgotten  things  !" 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  on 
her  face,  "  you  say  exactly  what  I  think,  but  so  much  better 
than  I  could  say  it!" 

Johns,  once  started,  was  in  no  mood  to  stop. 

"  Yes,  we  should  seek  the  natural,  and  cast  aside  the  weird, 
the  ghostly,  the  fantastic,  as  too  facile  and  too  tame,  not  fit 
even  for  the  nursery.  If  I  wrote  novels  instead  of  spending 
my  time  in  the  ungrateful  task  of  conducting  a  Review,  1 
should  love  to  draw  a  graceful  and  bright-witted  girl  with  a 
charming  nature  like  your  own.  Miss  Wilson." 

He  glanced  at  the  father  as  if  to  ask  permission  to  take  his 
daughter  as  a  type,  and  then  continued  — 

"  I  would  paint  her  mischievous,  delightful,  coy,  always  with 
a  laugh  upon  her  lips,  gay,  light-hearted,  young,  and  yet  with  a 
little  head  which  knew  well  what  it  wanted,  with  a  judgment 
which  wasn't  to  be  imposed  upon. 

"  Then,  as  nothing  is  of  greater  interest,  of  greater  charm  in 
life  than  a  love's  idyll,  I  would  create  for  her  a  handsome 
cavalier,  one  after  my  own  heart,  with  dash  and  spirit,  who 
knew  his  own  mind  well,  and  who,  being  very  much  in  love, 
meant  to  win  her  in  spite  of  all  the  obstacles  which  I,  as 
novelist,  would  place  before  him.  And  in  the  end  they  would 
be  happy,  extraordinarily  happy,  and  their  lives  would  be 
destined  afterwards  to  flow  as  smoothly  as  a  summer's  dream. 
That  would  be  all  my  story  !" 

In  drawing  this  portrait  of  what  he  meant  to  be  an  idealised 
Miss  Wilson,  Johns  had  glanced  alternately  from  the  father  to 
the  daughter,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  presence  of  St.  George 
(who  was  listening  with  a  half-satisfied  expression),  and  his  eyes 
had  become  moist  with  the  enthusiasm  he  had  contrived  to 
conjure  up.  Miss  Wilson,  when  he  had  finished,  looked  more 
pleased  than  ever,  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Mr.  Johns,  how 
charming  of  you !    That's  just  the  kind  of  book  I  like." 

Johns  said,  "  I  thought  it  was ;  I  guessed  it  must  be  from 
your  face." 


264  THE  ADVENTURES 

Then,  turning  his  gaze  upon  St.  George  as  if  he  had  but  now 
perceived  him,  he  exclaimed  — 

"  But  here  we  have,  if  not  a  novelist,  at  least  a  poet  whose 
modesty  I  must  unveil.  St.  George,  do  you  remember  those 
bucolic  poems  I  published  for  you  in  the  Planet  1" 

St.  George  had  been  endeavouring  to  make  a  sign  to  Johns 
to  stop,  but  seeing  that  he  would  not,  he  expostulated — 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  talk  of  those  /" 

Miss  Wilson  said,  "  I  didn't  know,  Mr.  St.  George,  you  were 
a  poet!" 

St.  George  declared  that  he  had  merely  written  a  few  verses 
which  were  not  worth  speaking  of,  but  the  young  girl  said — 

'  Oh,  but  I  want  to  see  them  !     I'm  curious  to  see  them." 

St.  George  protested  that  he  hadn't  kept  them,  that  he 
would  not  know  where  to  find  them  even  if  he  were  m 
London. 

But  Johns  gave  out  that  he  knew  how  to  procure  the  pieces. 
He  would  write  to  the  office  for  the  numbers  of  the  paper. 

"  Do,  Mr.  Johns,"  the  young  girl  cried,  apparently  enjoying 
St.  George's  evident  confusion.  "That  will  be  fun.  I'm 
dying  to  read  your  friend's  poetry.  Fancy  being  a  poet  and 
keeping  it  so  secret !  Mr.  Johns,  I  shall  rely  upon  you  to  get 
the  verses." 

St.  George,  seeing  that  it  was  useless  to  object,  was  silent, 
trying  to  look  pleased  in  spite  of  his  evident  annoyance. 
After  this,  the  dinner  was  soon  over.  The  party  rose  at  the 
same  time  as  the  other  diners  at  the  long  table,  and  left  the 
room  with  them. 

In  the  vestibule — a  large  hall  paved  with  marble  and  furnished 
with  basket  chairs  and  little  bamboo  tables — they  took  seats, 
and  were  served  with  coffee.  But  they  had  not  been  there 
more  than  a  few  minutes  when  Miss  Wilson,  whose  chair 
happened  to  be  a  httle  apart  from  the  rest,  found  herself 
surrounded  by  three  young  Englishmen  whom  Johns  judged 
quickly  to  belong  to  the  money-seeking  class  for  whom  the 
Riviera  has  always  been  a  hunting  ground. 

Sipping  his  coffee  leisurely,  and  smoking  a  cigar,  Johns 
amused  himself  by  watching  them,  speculating  on  their  chances, 
glancing  at  St.  George  occasionally  to  study  his  discomfiture. 
To  do  her  justice,  Johns  admitted  that  Miss  Wilson  did  not 
seem  to  give  any  of  them  much  encouragement,  and  she 
answered  a  dark  man  of  about  forty,  with  a  scar  upon  a  rather 
handsome  face,  with  much  indifference. 

"Who  is  that  man?"  Johns  asked  St.  George  in  a  low  tone. 

"His  name  is  Blanchamp.      He's  a  baronet,"  St.  George 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  "  265 

replied,  with  evident  disgust.  The  other  two  were  younger 
and  somewhat  less  assiduous. 

But  after  listening  to  their  conversation  for  a  little  while, 
Johns  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were  very  clumsy,  and, 
setting  down  their  chances  as  extremely  slight,  he  began  to 
talk  to  Wilson  about  the  state  of  trade. 

A  little  later,  however.  Miss  Wilson,  having  dismissed  her 
trio  without  much  ceremony,  exclaimed — 

"  Oh,  father,  we  don't  want  to  speak  of  business.  We  want 
to  settle  what  we're  going  to  do  this  evening." 

St.  George  at  once  proposed  a  walk,  but  Wilson  shook  his 
head.  He  had  walked  enough  that  day.  St.  George  next 
proposed  the  Casino,  but  the  young  girl  declared  she  was  tired 
of  the  Casino.  Nothing  that  evening  was  taking  place  there. 
Johns  made  no  proposal,  and  there  was  a  short  pause. 

At  length  Miss  Wilson,  who  had  been  reflecting,  suddenly 
clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  have  it !  Mr.  Johns  will  tell  us  one  of  his  little  stories. 
I've  heard  so  much  about  them  from  a  friend,  and  I'm  dying 
to  hear  one  of  them.  Now,  Mr.  Johns,  you  won't  refuse  me, 
will  you  ?  " 

Johns,  thus  appealed  to,  said  that  nothing  would  give  him 
greater  pleasure,  and,  after  a  moment  to  collect  his  thoughts, 
he  told  them  the  best  of  his  little  narratives,  one  that  he  knew 
by  heart,  and  which  he  related  with  so  much  skill,  alternating 
so  cleverly  between  humour  and  subdued  pathos  as  he  pro- 
gressed, that  the  end  was  greeted  by  a  prolonged  murmur 
of  admiration  on  the  part,  not  only  of  the  young  girl,  but  of 
her  father  also. 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  naively,  "  how  I  wish  I  could  tell 
such  beautiful,  such  charming  little  stories ! "  and  she  looked 
at  Johns  half-shyly,  as  if  impressed  by  his  subtlety,  his  knowledge 
of  human  nature. 

And  Johns,  who  felt  as  though  he  had  returned  to  the  early 
days  when  his  little  stories  were  his  only  capital,  pleased  at  the 
effect  he  had  produced,  told  another  tale,  which  was  received 
with  almost  as  much  favour  as  the  former. 

This  occupied  the  greater  portion  of  the  evening,  and  after 
half  an  hour  spent  in  the  little  salon  which  adjoined  the  hall, 
the  party  separated.  The  Wilsons  retired  to  their  rooms,  and 
the  two  friends  were  left  together. 

St.  George,  who  had  plainly  not  enjoyed  himself  all  through 
the  evening,  said — 

**  I  do  think,  Johns,  that  you  needn't  have  promised  Miss 
Wilson  you  would  show  my  verses  to  her.     It  wasn't  exactly 


a66  THE  ADVENTURES 

kind.  It  might  prejudice  her  against  me.  Girls  are  so 
peculiar ! " 

Johns,  who  remembered  the  amateurish  lines  he  had  pub 
lished  once  when  he  wanted  to  oblige  St.  George,  replied — 

"  My  dear  St.  George,  believe  me,  there  is  a  flavour,  a 
literary  merit,  in  those  verses  which  cannot  fail  to  advance 
your  cause.  You  saw  how  my  little  compositions  pleased. 
Yours,  which  are  better,  will  be  even  more  appreciated." 

But  St.  George  was  not  convinced.     He  said — 

"  At  all  events,  of  you  I've  no  reason  to  be  jealous.  You're 
married,  my  boy,  as  married  as  you  can  be." 

Johns  repeated,  thoughtfully,  "As  married  as  I  can  be, 
St.  George,  as  married  as  I  can  be ! " 

Then  they  chatted,  and  after  a  last  cigar  each  retired  to  his 
room. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Johns  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Wilsons.  The  young  girl  was  not  sufficiently  good-looking  to 
cause  Mrs.  Johns  the  uneasiness  she  felt  when  in  the  presence 
of  a  beauty,  and  as  her  manners  were  pleasant  and  engaging, 
they  were  soon  on  the  best  of  terms.  The  acquaintance 
ripened.  Mrs.  Johns,  in  her  delicate  state  of  health,  was  not 
able  to  accompany  her  young  friend  for  walks,  but  Miss  Wilson, 
from  the  first,  evinced  a  readiness  to  sacrifice  her  inclinations 
to  the  comforts  of  the  invalid — for  such  she  still  remained — 
driving  with  her  when  she  would  have  preferred  to  ride  or  walk, 
staying  with  her  often  in  her  room — in  this  way  winning  hei 
affection.  The  father  was  not  too  much  pleased  with  the 
arrangement,  which  deprived  him  of  some  of  his  daughter's 
company ;  but  as  it  kept  her  out  of  danger,  he  refrained  from 
making  an  objection.  St.  George,  seeing  the  course  which 
things  had  taken,  at  once  endeavoured  to  enter  into  the  good 
graces  of  Mrs.  Johns. 

Thus,  life  at  Cannes  for  the  little  party  was  soon  organized 
upon  a  more  or  less  settled  plan.  In  the  morning,  before  the 
mid-day  breakfast,  and  after  the  visit  of  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Johns 
would  take  a  drive,  either  through  the  town  when  she  wanted 
to  make  purchases,  or  along  the  sea  front,  or  a  short  way  into 
the  adjoining  country.  Frequently  Miss  Wilson  would  accom- 
pany her,  and  sometimes,  too,  St.  George  would  be  invited, 
though  not  often,  for  Johns  had  told  his  wife  that,  as  Wilson 
was  entirely  opposed  to  the  notion  of  a  marriage  between  his 
daughter  and  St.  George,  they  must  be  careful  not  to  give  the 
young  people  too  many  opportunities  to  meet.  In  the  after- 
noon the  programme  was  generally  undecided.  On  certain 
days  the  Wilsons  had  to  visit  friends,  or  the  father  wanted  to 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  967 

take  a  ride  in  the  country  with  his  daughter,  or,  if  Mrs.  Johns 
was  not  indisposed,  a  drive  was  organized  in  the  Johns'  or  the 
Wilsons'  landau,  both  of  which  being  constructed  only  to 
contain  four,  St.  George  was  excluded  by  the  mere  force  of 
circumstances.  The  evenings  were  spent  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  Johns  was  soon  a  favourite  with  both  the  English  and 
the  French,  or  at  the  Casino  where  Mrs.  Johns  indulged  her 
fondness  for  mild  gambling. 

Johns,  in  the  meantime,  watched  events  in  a  curious,  un- 
decided, speculative,  semi-philosophical  frame  of  mind.  A 
portion  of  his  days  was  devoted  to  his  Review,  and  he  spent 
the  remainder  in  answering  the  long  and  admirably-written 
letters  which  he  frequently  received  from  Edith  Douglas,  and 
in  amusing  himself  as  well  as  he  was  able  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  found  himself. 

One  day,  after  they  had  been  a  few  weeks  at  Cannes,  the 
Wilsons  asiced  St.  George  and  Johns  if  they  would  ride  with 
them  that  afternoon.  Miss  Wilson  had  heard  of  some  new 
views,  and  she  wanted  very  much  to  see  them.  Mrs.  Johns 
would  come  a  part  of  the  way  with  them  in  the  carriage,  and 
they  would  have  a  pleasant  afternoon. 

The  invitation  was  at  once  accepted  with  enthusiasm  by 
St.  George,  whose  chances  that  week  had  been  growing  some- 
what dim,  and  who  hailed  this  opportunity  to  endeavour  to 
advance  them. 

The  Wilsons  had  had  their  saddle  horses  sent  from  England, 
but  the  two  friends  were  obliged  to  hire  the  best  that  could  be 
procured  in  Cannes,  from  stables  which  had  previously  supplied 
them  with  fair  mounts. 

After  breakfast,  therefore,  the  party  assembled  in  the  hall 
before  the  start.  Miss  Wilson  wore  a  light  grey  habit  which 
showed  her  small,  though  well-proportioned  figure  to  the  best 
advantage,  and  on  her  happy  little  face  the  glow  of  health  was 
softened  by  a  coat  of  down  which  lay  upon  it  like  the  bloom 
upon  a  peach.  She  was  looking  at  her  best,  and  her  points  of 
modest  beauty  were  admirably  shown,  as  her  mirror,  to  judge 
by  her  high  spirits,  must  have  told  her. 

Mrs.  Johns,  on  whose  face  the  powder  puff  had  been  exten- 
sively employed,  whose  cheeks  were  drawn  and  pale,  whose 
eyes  seemed  to  betray  the  artificial  means  that  had  been 
used  to  give  them  brilliancy,  made  a  sad  contrast  to  this  youth 
and  freshness.  In  spite  of  her  desire  to  appear  light-hearted, 
there  was  an  anxious  look  upon  her  countenance  which  her 
smiles  could  not  dispel. 

Wilson,  somewhat  indisposed  that  afternoon,  had  decided 


268  THE  ADVENTURES 

that  he  would  not  join  the  party,  but  he  was  in  the  hall  to 
witness  the  departure. 

When  the  trap  and  the  horses  came,  Johns,  St.  George,  and 
Miss  Wilson  mounted,  while  Mrs.  Johns  took  her  seat  in  the 
landau  with  the  wife  of  an  English  general  who  was  staying  at 
the  hotel. 

While  they  were  going  through  the  town.  Miss  Wilson,  St. 
George,  and  Johns,  riding  side  by  side,  followed  the  carriage, 
trotting  a  few  yards  behind,  and  in  this  order  they  reached  the 
Antibes  road. 

But  it  soon  became  apparent  that  the  original  order  could 
not  be  maintained.  The  long  and  parched  white  road  was 
covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  fine  dust,  which  rose  in  such 
dense  clouds  as  the  carriage  dashed  along,  that  the  riders 
following,  soon  became  as  white  as  millers,  and  were  well-nigh 
choked  and  blinded.  They  tried  to  ride  in  front,  but  the  cloud 
raised  by  their  horses'  hoofs  was  again  so  great  that  Mrs. 
Johns  in  the  landau,  distressed  by  it,  made  her  coachman  stop. 
The  rest  turned  back  and  came  to  see  if  anything  had  happened, 
and  she  asked  them  to  take  their  ride  independently  of  her 
The  roads  were  far  too  dusty  for  them  to  keep  company,  she 
said.  They  would  meet  when  they  reached  the  forest.  Miss 
Wilson  was  quite  safe  in  her  husband's  hands. 

The  riding  party  therefore  halted  for  a  few  minutes  until  the 
landau  was  nearly  out  of  sight.  Then  they  continued  at  a 
walk. 

But  it  seemed  that  the  commencement  of  their  ride  was  not 
destined  to  be  without  interruptions,  for  the  horse  St.  George 
was  riding — a  tall  lean  bay,  with  a  long  sinewy  neck,  which,  in 
starting,  had  shown  signs  of  restlessness — now  began  to  give 
him  trouble,  and  to  take  him  away  frequently  from  his  com- 
panions for  a  mad  gallop  upon  the  hard  road,  the  dust  rising 
after  him  like  a  long  wall  of  cloud.  St.  George  was  a  good 
rider,  but  he  was  mounted  on  an  imperfectly-trained  beast 
which  required  his  whole  attention,  and  prevented  him  from 
remaining  long  at  Miss  Wilson's  side. 

Johns,  who  was  riding  a  fine  Norman  mare,  reflected  that  St. 
George  had  got  no  luck,  for  he  knew  well  that  Wilson's  sudden 
resolution  to  stay  at  home  that  afternoon  had  deprived  his 
friend  of  an  opportunity  of  riding  alone  with  the  young  girl, 
since  four  might  have  paired  and  three  could  not — three 
certainly  could  not.  Presently,  as  Johns  and  Miss  Wilson 
were  advancing,  looking  in  front  of  them  at  the  place  where  St. 
George  had  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  they  reached  a 
turning  which  the  young  girl  said  was  the  best  to  take.     Mr. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aGg 

St.  George,  she  said,  would  know  that  road,  and  would  see  that 
they  had  taken  it.  If  not,  they  would  meet  when  they  reached 
the  forest. 

"  Poor  Mr.  St.  George,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  she  turned  her 
horse's  head,  "  he's  so  unfortunate  to-day  !  '* 

Then,  confidentially,  as  if  she  had  been  speaking  to  an 
accomplice,  she  continued,  "It  was  such  fun  to  read  his 
poems.  I  had  no  idea  he  could  be  so  sentimental.  'The 
marriage  of  Belinda'  was  wonderfully  soulful." 

Johns  asked,  smiling,  "What  did  you  think  of  them?" 

"  Shall  I  confess  ?    I  will  if  you  promise  not  to  tell." 

"  I  promise." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  they're  rather  silly ! " 

They  both  laughed,  and  Johns  replied,  "You're  a  sagacious 
critic ! "  Then  he  pursued,  in  a  comiserating  tone,  "  Poor 
St.  George,  he's  got  no  luck  to-day,  and  yet  in  some  respects  I 
envy  him.  If  his  poetry  is  bad,  perhaps  he  is  appreciated  for 
other  qualities  he  may  be  thought  to  have,  by  one  whom  every 
man  must  wish  to  please.  And  St.  George  is  free,  a  bachelor, 
while  I — oh,  I — well,  never  mind.     I  do  not  count." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  regretfully  ?  "  she  asked,  becoming 
serious. 

He  gave  her  a  rapid  glance,  and  as  he  fancied  he  detected 
the  trace  of  an  incipient  emotion  on  her  countenance,  he  asked 
himself,  "  Why  not  ?  "  and  after  a  moment's  pause,  exclaimed — 
"Miss  Wilson,  I  feel  impelled  to  ask  you,  to  entreat  you  to 
allow  me  to  confide  in  you.  You  are  one  of  those  rare  persons 
who  call  forth  confidence." 

He  looked  round  quickly  to  ascertain  if  St.  George  were 
coming,  and,  seeing  no  one  in  the  narrow  lane  they  were  passing 
along,  continued — 

"  We  are  such  good  friends  now  that  I  am  going  to  confide 
in  you  as  I  have  never  yet  confided  in  anyone  before.  I  have 
such  absolute  reliance  on  your  discretion  ! " 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  deeply  interested,  "whatever  you  tell 
me  I  will  not  repeat." 

"  I  know  it !  Well,  then.  Miss  Wilson,  dear  Miss  Wilson,  let 
me  tell  you  what  you  may  have  guessed — I  am  not  happy ;  no, 
not  happy ! " 

He  paused  a  moment  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Then 
resuming — 

"A  few  years  ago  I  married  a  woman  whose  kindness 
touched  me,  whose  great  solicitude  for  me,  coming  at  a  time 
when  I  was  fighting  against  many  obstacles  in  my  profession, 
and  had  need  of  sympathy,  caused  me  to  feel  doubly  grateful, 


ayo  THE  ADVENTURES 

and  at  last  to  mistake  my  gratitude  for  love.  My  friends 
persuaded  me  that  the  difference  in  our  ages  need  be  no  bar  to 
happiness,  and  as  I  was  then  inclined  to  be  convinced,  I 
married.  Our  married  life  flowed  smoothly.  My  wife  con- 
tinued to  be  kind  and — motherly.  I  endeavoured,  as  you  may 
have  seen,  to  make  her  life  (that  of  an  invalid)  as  pleasant  as  I 
could,  but,  alas !  I  have  gradually  and  painfully  become  aware 
that  I  was  reckoning  without  human  nature,  that  I  had  linked 
myself  to  one  who  could  never  be  more  than  a  friend  to  me,  a 
companion.  And  day  by  day  the  dismal  thought  has  grown 
upon  me  that  I  had  made  one  of  those  mistakes  which  cannot  be 
repaired,  which  embitter  a  career.  For  at  last  I  came  to  own  that 
my  ideal,  the  ideal  which  we  all  form,  had  not  been  achieved, 
and  that  I  could  only  dream  in  vain  of  a  young  wife,  bright  and 
gay  and  sympathetic,  without  too  much  sentiment,  but  with 
that  charming  magnetism  which  one  feels  so  subtly,  with  that 
delightful  little  girlish  malice,  those  delicious  ways  which  are 
the  salt  of  feminine  attractiveness,  above  all  possessing  a 
character,  a  nature  akin  to  mine,  linked  to  it  by  mutual  affinity. 
And  I  have  been  living  with  a  great  regret,  trying  to  forget  it  by 
hard  work,  disdainful  of  the  lying  stories,  some  of  which  you 
may  have  heard,  invented  by  jealous  mediocrities  about  me. 
And  so  the  time  has  passed,  until  at  length  fate  willed  that  my 
wife's  health  should  bring  us  to  this  place,  and  that  here  I 
should  meet  one  who,  from  the  moment  I  beheld  her,  seemed 
to  be  the  absolute  realization  of  the  ideal  I  had  formed  !  And 
then  my  trouble  was  increased  a  hundred-fold.  Never  had  I 
felt  so  keenly  that  I  was  not  free  ! " 

They  had  passed  the  little  chapel  of  St.  Antoine,  and  a 
turning  of  the  road  had  brought  them  to  an  eminence  com- 
manding a  superb  view  of  the  azure  coast.  Before  them  lay 
the  Gulf  of  La  Napoule,  slightly  ruffled  by  a  light  breeze,  and 
presided  over  by  the  town  of  Cannes,  gleaming  white  in  the 
strong  sunlight.  Farther  still,  the  islands  of  St.  Marguerite  and 
St.  Honorat  were  dotted  as  if  fallen  from  the  sky.  A  little  to 
the  right,  appeared  the  iridescent  peaks  of  the  changeful 
Esterel.  In  the  same  direction  as  far  as  Bordighera,  the  rocks 
and  promontories  alternated  in  bewildering  succession,  and  on 
the  other  side,  across  Cape  Antibes,  Nice,  whiter  still  than 
Cannes,  was  resting  calmly,  as  if  protected  by  warlike  Toulon, 
a  speck  in  the  far  distance.  In  the  rear,  the  snow-clad  summits 
of  the  Alps  lent  to  the  scene  a  note  of  peaceful  dignity. 

After  Johns  had  finished  speaking  there  was  a  pause.  Miss 
Wilson,  playing  with  her  reins,  was  looking  seawards  thoughtfully. 

At  length  she  asked,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice — 


OF  JOHN  JOHN?  «7i 

"Who  was  she?" 

'•  Oh !  can  you  ask  me  that  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Who  might  she  be 
but  you  ?    You  and  you  alone." 

Looking  away  from  him,  she  said — 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  told  me  !" 

"  It  was  inevitable !  I  knew  that  I  should  tell  you  the  first 
time  we  were  alone.  There  are  inclinations  which  can  never 
be  controlled.  I  felt,  I  knew,  that  there  was  sympathy  between 
us,  and  that  must  be  my  excuse." 

"  How  did  you  know  I  liked  you  ?"  she  asked,  ingenuously. 

"  Then  you  do !  you  do ! "  he  cried.  "  Oh,  I  was  not  quite 
certain,  but  now  that  you  have  told  me  so,  I  almost  feel  as  if,  in 
spite  of  all,  I  could  be  happy !  " 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  Then  she 
added — 

"  Why  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  nice  people  are  always  married  ? 
Since  I  have  been  out,  I've  had  eight  offers,  and  not  one  of  the 
men  was  as  nice  as  you,  not  one.  Most  of  them  wanted  to 
marry  me  simply  for  my  money." 

"  The  curs  !  "  said  Johns,  with  a  deep  frown. 

"  And  I  hate  a  man  who  only  worships  that !  Money  isn't 
everj'thing ! " 

"  No  one  knows  as  well  as  I  how  true  that  is ! " 

They  rode  along  in  silence  for  some  distance  in  the  direction 
of  the  pine  woods,  and  just  as  these  were  coming  into  sight, 
darkly  green  against  the  blue,  cloudless  sky,  she  said — 

"  But  it's  no  use  to  think  of  impossibilities.  We  ought  to 
have  met  before." 

He  answered,  "  I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  we  did  not." 

Presently  they  reached  a  cluster  of  old  pines  spread  like 
panoplies  between  the  earth  and  sky,  giving  the  impression  of 
huge  black  mushrooms  guarding  the  entrance  of  the  woods. 

She  said,  as  they  passed  into  the  shade — 

"  But  we  must  not  be  miserable  about  it,  and  you  must  be 
very  good  to  poor  Mrs.  Johns,  who  seems  so  ill ! " 

He  reflected  once  again  that  they  all  said  the  same  things, 
and  then  replied — 

*'  I  shall  never  forget  that  she  is  my  wife ;  but,  oh,  if  I  could 
see  into  futurity ! " 

The  young  girl  was  silent,  and  they  advanced  along  a  narrow 
forest  path,  barely  wide  enough  for  their  horses  to  walk  abreast. 
Johns  hesitated  for  a  moment,  undecided  upon  what  chord  to 
strike.  The  situation  was  extremely  delicate.  She  was  not  of 
a  sentimental  nature,  he  knew  that  well,  but  yet  experience  had 
taught  him  that  women  are  apt  to  judge  men  sometimes  by  the 


ija  THE  ADVENTURES 

way  they  act  towards  the  weaker  sex.  He  must  be  cautious 
therefore,  as  to  what  he  said  about  the  future.  Several  timef 
the  word  divorce  was  on  his  lips,  but  when  he  thought  of  his 
wife's  health,  and  of  the  extreme  measures  he  would  have  to 
take  to  force  her  to  break  the  marriage,  of  the  scandal  which 
must  inevitably  be  caused,  he  quickly  saw  that  the  idea  must 
be  abandoned.  And  yet  what  a  prize  she  was !  And  how 
neat  her  little  figure  looked  in  that  grey  habit !  Above  all, 
how  young  !     Presently  an  inspiration  came  to  him. 

Leaning  towards  her  in  his  saddle,  he  gently  placed  his  arm 
around  her  waist,  and  murmured — 

"  Gwen,  my  little  Gwen,  promise  me,  at  least,  that  while  we 
are  here  together,  you  won't  accept  another  man.  It  may  be 
selfish,  but  I  could  not  bear  to  see  another  win  you.  We 
shall  only  be  together  for  a  few  months,  and  I  am  so  fond  of 
you,  so  fond !     Oh,  promise  ! " 

Disengaging  herself  quietly,  she  said — 

"  Of  course  I  will,  with  pleasure.  I'm  not  in  a  hurry  to  get 
married,  and  none  of  the  marriageables  here  can  tempt  me." 

He  thanked  her  warmly,  vowing  she  was  the  kindest  and 
the  most  delightful  nature  in  the  world,  the  sweetest  and 
the  best. 

Then  he  said,  "  I  almost  feared,  you  know,  St.  George  had 
been  successful." 

But  she  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"  Oh  no,  good  Mr.  St.  George  is  rather  nice,  and  at  first  I 
might  have  had  a  little  liking  for  him,  but  lately — well  perhaps, 
he  doesn't  bear  comparison.  Besides,"  she  added,  "pa  has 
some  notion  in  his  head  about  a  title." 

"  A  title,"  he  repeated,  "  and  do  you  care  for  that  ?  " 

"Scarcely  a  bit." 

"How  quickly  I  would  have  obtained  one  for  you  had  I 
been  your  husband!  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do,  no 
place  I  would  not  conquer !" 

She  answered,  enthusiastically — 

"I'm  sure  you  would,  and  if  you  had  been  free,  no  one 
would  have  prevented  me  from  marrying  you.  I  don't  believe 
what  people  say  about  you." 

"  How  good,  how  kind  you  are !" 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  narrow  path  and  were 
emerging  from  amid  the  trees  into  an  open  space  which  joined 
the  road  beyond  when  they  perceived  the  carriage.  St.  George, 
his  horse  still  foaming  at  the  mouth,  was  at  the  side  of  it. 

The  young  man  was  speaking  to  Mrs.  Johns  as  they  came 
up.      He  replied  to  Johns's   "Well,  St.   George,   have  you 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  273 

tamed  your  steed?"  by  a  mere  "  yes,  thank  you,"  in  a  dry  tone, 
without  looking  at  his  friend. 

But  Mrs.  Johns  exclaimed  — 

"Oh,  John,  I  was  so  afraid  you  might  have  had  a  horrid 
beast  like  poor  Mr.  St.  George,  and  that  something  might  have 
happened ! " 

Johns  answered,  with  a  laugh,  that  his  mount  was  a  pretty 
good  one,  and  that  they  had  left  the  road  to  see  the  delightful 
view  from  the  heights  beyond. 

Then,  presently,  after  a  little  conversation,  as  no  one  wanted 
to  dismount,  and  as  Mrs.  Johns  confessed  that  she  was  not 
feeling  well  that  afternoon,  the  party  started  homewards. 

The  riders  took  the  lead,  but  owing  to  St  George's  taciturnity, 
the  ride  back  was  an  almost  silent  one. 


CHAPTER 
EIGHTEENTH 

TWO  months  after  the  visit  to  the  pine  woods,  Johns  was 
sitting  by  his  wife's  bed-side,  watching  her  features  as  she 
slept.  It  was  the  afternoon,  and  the  window  shutters,  closed  to 
exclude  the  sunlight,  had  plunged  the  room  into  a  half  obscurity, 
throwing  into  cold  relief  the  pallor  of  the  bed-clothes,  and  the 
white  wimple  of  the  grave  Sister  watching  on  the  other  side. 
On  a  table  near  the  bed,  a  large  bouquet  of  red  roses  in  a  vase, 
diffused  their  perfume.  The  stillness  was  unbroken,  save  for 
the  faint  sound  of  a  distant  piano,  and  now  and  then  the  noise 
of  carriage  wheels  on  the  gravel  path  below. 

The  fears  of  the  London  doctors  had  been  realized.  Sud- 
denly the  disease  which  women  shrink  from  naming,  had 
re-appeared,  this  time  with  redoubled  force,  and  the  poor 
woman,  after  concealing  its  recrudescence  with  untold  suffering 
for  many  days,  had  been  at  length  obliged  to  yield  to  the 
inevitable  and  to  confess.  The  local  doctors,  and  an  eminent 
practitioner  from  London,  who  was  then  in  Cannes,  had  held  a 
consultation,  and  had  declared  that  another  operation  could 
not  be  attempted.  All  that  could  be  done,  they  said,  must  be 
in  the  way  of  palliation.  They  could  alleviate  the  suffering, 
they  could  not  conquer  the  disease. 

And  what  a  change  had  taken  place  !  Instead  of  the  woman, 
half-girlish  in  her  carefully  preserved  maturity,  whom  Johns 
had  married  but  a  few  years  since  at  Westminster,  a  patient, 
aged  and  worn,  was  sleeping  a  narcotic  sleep  in  the  large  white 
bed.  The  lines  upon  her  face  had  become  deep  furrows, 
rendered  the  more  apparent  by  the  congested  aspect  of  her 
features.  The  mouth  had  sunk,  and  the  chin  rested  upon  the 
somewhat  swollen  neck.  The  golden  locks,  carefully  waved 
and  dressed,  contrasted  strangely  with  the  ravaged  face.  Johns, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS  875 

as  he  looked  at  her,  muttered,  "  Poor  old  Rose,"  for  even  he, 
had  been  surprised  at  the  rapidity  of  the  decay,  and  at  the 
suddenness  with  which  his  own  prospects  had  heen  altered. 
Truly,  it  seemed,  he  thought,  as  if  fate  worked  for  him,  as  if 
whenever  he  had  an  end  in  view  everything  conspired  to  help 
him  to  attain  it.  "  Poor  old  Rose,"  he  repeated.  "  If  she  only 
knew !"  For  it  had  been  thought  humane  to  refrain  from 
telling  her  how  hopeless  her  condition  was. 

Presently  the  patient  moved.  She  turned  her  head  slightly 
towards  Johns,  and  her  eyes  slowly  opened. 

A  forced,  sad  smile  overspread  her  face  as  she  enquired — 

"Have  I  been  long  asleep,  John.?" 

"Only  a  few  hours,  Rose;  how  are  you  feeling  now?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  mournful  gesture. 

"I'm  very  ill,  my  John!  I'm  very  ill!  The  doctors  have 
not  done  me  any  good.     No  good  at  all  1" 

Johns  answered,  "  You  must  have  patience,  Rose." 

But  again  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  love  so  much  to  see  you  near  me  when  I  wake,  to  look 
at  your  dear  face  while  I  am  a  little  calm,  before  the  dreadful 
pains  return.     Ah,  how  sweet  it  is  to  have  a  husband  !" 

And  she  gave  him  a  long  glance  of  despairing  love,  while  the 
Sister,  who  had  been  listening,  cast  her  eyelids  down. 

But  presently  she  said,  "  Open  the  window,  John.  I  cannot 
breathe." 

Johns  rose  and  turned  the  latch  of  the  folding  window 
opposite  the  bed.  At  once  a  current  of  pure  air,  fragrant 
with  the  first  scents  of  spring,  came  into  the  room  as  if  to  give 
fresh  life  to  the  sick  woman. 

She  took  a  long  deep  breath. 

"How  delicious!"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  you  know,  my 
John,  that  when  I  am  well  again  we  must  take  a  trip  on 
the  Atlantic  to  breathe  the  salt  sea  air?  Oh,  when  shall  I 
be  well  again?" 

As  she  said  this  she  passed  her  hands  before  her  eyes  as  if 
to  exclude  a  sombre  thought,  and  presently  a  tear  emerged 
from  between  the  fingers  and  trickled  slowly  down  her  cheek. 

"  Don't  worry,  Rose.  The  doctors  say  you  won't  continue 
as  you  are." 

"Ah,  no  !     Perhaps  I  may  be  worse !" 

Through  the  open  window  now  came  the  sound  of  srnging. 
A  man's  and  a  woman's  voices  were  mingling  in  a  duet,  accom- 
panied by  the  notes  of  a  soft-toned  piano.  The  voices  were 
young  and  pure,  and  they  thrilled  with  earnestness  and  passion 
as  they  rose  and  fell  in  the  cadences  of  a  French  love  song.    It 


a76  THE  ADVENTURES 

seemed  as  though  the  singers  must  themselves  be  lovers,  and 
were  singing  under  the  influence  of  love. 

The  voices  were  so  fine  and  the  song  so  tender,  that  they 
listened  silently,  attentively,  until  the  last  note  had  died  away. 

Then,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  Mrs.  Johns  exclaimed — 

"Oh,  John,  how  happy  they  must  be!" 

And  Johns  answered  simply — 

"Yes,  Rose!" 

But  he  was  thinking,  "  Ah,  yes,  happiness — always  happiness. 
They  crave  for  it.  They  live  for  it.  They  give  their  bodies  up 
to  it.  They  sell  their  souls  for  it.  And,  by  God,  they're  right ! 
Pleasure  is  the  only  certain  good,  the  only  reason  for  continuing 
the  dull  farce  of  life.  Rose  didn't  get  much  of  it  when  she 
married  me,  yet  now  she's  bitterly  regretting  the  little  she 
obtained.  If  she  had  lived  to  sixty  she  would  still  have  pined 
for  it.  Pleasure  !  Pleasure,  held  before  each  one  of  us  Uke  a 
bag  of  hay  before  an  ass  to  make  him  go !  Nothing  else  can 
make  us  live.     Egoism  will  ever  be  the  law  of  life." 

Then,  moved  by  a  sudden  fancy,  he  drew  a  full-blown  rose 
from  the  vase  upon  the  table,  and  placed  it  gently  in  his  wife's 
hair. 

And  she,  oblivious  to  the  incongruity,  said  almost  m  a 
whisper — 

"Oh,  thank  you,  John!" 

But  at  that  moment  there  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  bedroom 
door. 

The  Sister  rose  to  open  it.  Gwendolme,  bearing  a  large 
basket  of  flowers,  entered. 

During  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Johns  she  had  been  untiring  in 
her  kindness  to  the  condemned  woman.  Sitting  at  her  bedside 
in  the  afternoon,  and  attending  to  her  wants  with  a  woman's 
patience,  she  had  become  almost  the  only  stranger  whom  Mrs. 
Johns  would  see,  and,  severed  as  the  latter  was  from  relatives 
and  friends  in  Cannes,  the  kindness  of  the  young  girl  was 
doubly  grateful. 

Johns  rose  and,  giving  up  his  place  to  her,  relieved  her  ot 
her  burden. 

"Oh,  the  lovely  flowers !"  Mrs.  Johns  exclaimed,  "  how  kind 
of  you,  dear  Gwendoline  !" 

And  her  eyes  filled  with  moisture,  for  in  her,  state  her  sense 
•f  gratitude  was  strong.  Johns  held  the  basket  near  her  that 
she  might  inhale  the  perfume  of  the  stephanotis. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "we  have  to  thank  Miss  Wilson  for  so 
much!" 

The  young  girl  chatted  gaily,  trying  to  amuse  the  su£ferer  by 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  »77 

telling  her  whom  she  had  met  that  morning  on  the  promenade — 
Lady  Vieille  with  the  Poet  Laureate,  the  Prince  with  a  young 
French  Jew,  the  Serene  Highness  from  Monte  Carlo  with  his 
wife.  Then  followed  a  minute  description  of  the  gowns  and 
bonnets  she  had  seen,  intermingled  with  a  little  scandal. 

Mrs.  Johns  listened  somewhat  absent-mindedly. 

"  Ah ! "  she  said,  with  a  deep  sigh,  when  Gwen  had  finished, 
"I  wonder  if  I  shall  see  all  that  again  !" 

Both  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

But  Johns,  seated  at  a  little  distance  from  them  while  they 
had  been  speaking,  had  been  glancing,  now  at  his  wife  with 
her  careworn  face  and  golden  hair  decked  with  the  large  red 
rose,  now  at  the  fresh  young  girl  not  ungraceful  in  her  light 
cloth  dress.  And  he  had  muttered  to  himself,  "Two  provi- 
dences, but,  by  God,  how  different ! " 

During  his  wife's  illness  he  had  seen  much  of  Gwen,  but  the 
young  girl,  as  if  guided  by  a  scruple  of  feminine  conscience, 
had  maintained  a  slight  reserve,  avoiding  as  much  as  possible 
fimding  herself  alone  with  him,  and  telling  him,  when  they  met 
by  accident  upon  the  landing  or  in  the  corridor,  that  he  must 
be  very  good  to  his  poor  wife  who  was  so  ill,  and  escaping 
quickly  with  a  little  smile  at  his  discomfiture.  And  even  now, 
when  their  eyes  met  while  speaking,  she  quickly  looked  away. 

Johns  understood  her  feeling  and  did  little  to  dispel  it.  He 
was  certain  he  could  count  upon  her,  and  events  must  take 
their  course. 

But  as  the  afternoon  advanced,  the  patient's  face  began  to 
show  signs  of  pain,  and  she  no  longer  listened  to  the  conver- 
sation. A  sad,  obliterated  look  came  over  her,  and  her  head 
sank  deeper  into  the  hollow  of  the  pillow. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  in  anguish,  "  it's  coming  on  again  ! " 

At  once  the  Sister  rose  and,  going  to  a  side  table  on  which  was 
a  phial  and  a  small  glass,  poured  out  a  potion  which  diffused  a 
smell  of  ether  in  the  room.  Then,  coming  back  to  the  bedside, 
she  placed  the  glass  to  the  patient's  lips,  who  drank  its  contents 
eagerly,  lapsing  shortly  afterwards  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

Gwendoline  and  Johns  then  rose  and  left. 

"Oh,  Gwen,"  Johns  murmured  when  they  were  outside, 
"  she's  very  bad ! " 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  girl,  gravely,  "  it's  terrible  to  see  her." 

"  Gwen,  she  won't  get  over  it,  the  doctors  all  say  so." 

"I  know  they  do,  you  need  not  tell  me.  Poor,  poor 
woman ! " 

"  Believe  me,  Gwen,  I'm  sorry  for  her  too  ! " 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she  replied,  and  without 


278  THE  ADVENTURES 

waiting  to  hear  more,  she  left  him,  disappearing  down  the 
passage  rapidly. 

When  Johns  reached  his  room  he  threw  himself  into  an 
arm-chair,  and,  after  lighting  a  cigarette,  he  opened  the  letter 
which  he  had  received  that  afternoon  from  Edith.  She  asked 
him  the  reason  of  his  long  silence,  wondering  if  he  might 
be  ill,  telling  him  how  much  she  missed  him,  how  she  hoped 
he  would  be  returning  soon.  She  had  never,  in  any  letter  she 
had  written  him,  allowed  her  feelings  to  betray  themselves  so 
plainly,  and  Johns,  after  he  had  finished  reading,  asked  himself 
what  he  should  do,  whether  he  should  answer  her  or  not. 
Edith  Douglas,  he  began  to  argue,  was  certainly  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  women  he  had  met,  and  even  then,  as  he 
shut  his  eyes  and  saw  her  in  imagination,  lithe  and  graceful, 
perfect,  he  could  not  banish  feelings  of  regret.  Why  was  it 
that  he  was  always  forced  to  make  a  choice  between  material 
things  and  beauty?  His  luck  even  now  was  not  without 
a  flaw. 

For  a  few  moments  he  enquired  of  himself  whether  he 
should  write  to  tell  her  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  wife's  con- 
dition ;  but  he  soon  decided  that  he  would  not.  It  was  never 
wise  to  impart  knowledge  without  a  purpose,  and  in  this  case 
it  would  be  specially  unwise.  No,  certainly,  he  would  not,  and 
he  sat  down  at  his  table  and  wrote  a  letter  full  of  well-turned 
sentences  which  committed  him  to  nothing.  His  wife  was  still 
unwell,  he  told  her  in  a  postscript,  and  he  did  not  think  they 
would  be  back  again  till  May. 

"Poor  Edith,"  he  said,  as  he  sealed  the  envelope,  "she 
won't  like  it  when  she  knows ! "  But  what  was  he  to  do  ? 
Every  man  was  meant  to  carry  out  his  destiny.  The  destiny 
of  a  man  like  him  was  to  constantly  ascend,  and  life  was  much 
too  short  to  do  so  when  the  nerve  of  war  was  absent. 

Ah  yes !  the  nerve  of  war !  The  mighty  power  of  the  age, 
the  subtle  influence  before  which  conscience,  virtue  bowed; 
the  all-excusing  salve;  the  talisman  before  which  no  doors 
were  closed !  There  might  have  been  a  time  when  other 
powers  reigned,  love,  religion,  and  such  things,  when  men 
fought  for  something  else  but  gold.  That  time  had  passed, 
and  one  must  be  of  one's  period ! 

Thinking  thus,  he  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  and  went  out  for  a  stroll 
upon  the  terrace. 

The  days  succeeded  each  other  now  in  the  same  way,  and 
each  day  the  condition  of  the  afflicted  woman  grew  more  grave, 
each  day  her  sufferings  increased      Gradually  the  definite 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  «79 

decline  set  in.  Gwendoline  and  Johns,  as  they  watched  at  the 
bedside  in  the  afternoons,  witnessed  the  progress  of  the  sinking, 
and  at  length  the  poor  woman's  realization  of  her  state. 

By  degrees,  as  the  truth  dawned  upon  her,  she  sank  into  a 
dull  lethargy,  and  her  face,  discoloured  and  congested,  lost  all 
traces  of  good  looks,  became  forbidding,  ugly.  Her  hair,  which 
she  refused  now  to  have  manipulated  by  her  maid,  was  losing 
its  golden  hue  and  turning  grey  in  patches.  She  was  relaxing 
her  hold  on  life. 

One  morning,  as  Johns  lay  in  bed,  reading  with  great  interest 
a  story  of  ambition — a  novel  in  which  the  hero's  character,  he 
was  forced  to  own,  somewhat  resembled  his — he  heard  a  knock 
at  his  bedroom  door.  A  servant  entered — a  pretty  Niceoise, 
with  an  Italian  face — and  told  him  that  the  Sister  begged 
of  him  to  come  to  his  wife's  room,  as  madame  was  much 
worse. 

Jumping  out  of  bed,  as  soon  as  the  girl  had  left,  he  dressed 
in  haste  and  passed  into  his  wife's  room. 

As  he  went  in,  he  heard  a  low,  moaning  sound,  and  a  glance 
at  the  face  upon  the  pillow  convinced  him  that  his  wife  was 
within  a  measurable  distance  of  her  end. 

The  Sister  rose  and  met  him  before  he  reached  the  bed, 
whispering  m  French,  "  The  night,  monsieur,  has  been  very 
bad.  I  fear  the  end  is  not  far  off.  You  should  warn  a  minister 
of  her  religion." 

Johns  advanced  gravely  to  the  bedside. 

Taking  his  wife's  hand,  which  rested  inertly  on  the  bed-clothes, 
he  said  kindly — 

"Well,  Rose!" 

Slowly  her  eyes  opened,  and  casting  a  look  of  sorrow  upon 
her  husband,  she  murmured  in  a  hollow  voice — 

"  Oh,  John  !  oh,  John ! " 

In  the  disordered  room  there  was  an  odour  of  disease 
mingled  with  narcotic  fumes.  On  a  side  table  stood  an  array 
of  medicine  bottles,  cups,  and  glasses,  a  heap  of  lints  and 
bandages.  The  place  had  an  air  of  gloom,  disintegration,  and 
the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  which  streamed  through  the  upper 
rafters  of  the  shutters,  fell  upon  the  dark  red  curtains  of  the  bed 
almost  sacrilegiously. 

Johns  asked,  "  And  are  you  suflfering,  my  Rose  ?  " 

But  she  scarcely  seemed  to  hear,  for  she  answered  feebly, 
"  Oh,  John,  I'm  going  from  you  now !  I  did  not  think  that  it 
would  be  so  soon!" 

Johns  pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  finding  no  words  for  the 
occasion,  and  she  continued  to  moan  piteously. 


a8o  THE  ADVENTURES 

Presently  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  English  doctor,  a 
tall  man,  with  a  thoughtful  shaven  face,  came  in. 

A  brief  examination  of  the  patient  was  sufficient.  He 
requested  Johns  to  follow  him  to  the  adjoining  room.  There 
he  said,  "  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that  your  wife  is 
sinking.  She  may  linger  for  a  few  days,  but  the  break-up  has 
commenced." 

"  Indeed,  doctor." 

"  So  that,  if  you  wish  to  summon  relatives  or  an  English 
clergyman,  there's  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"  I  shall  see  to  it  at  once." 

The  doctor  left,  promising  to  return  later  in  the  day. 

"  Summon  the  relatives ! "  Johns  muttered,  "  the  Dean  and 
all  the  meddUng  tribe ! "  No,  he  didn't  intend  to  do  it.  The 
clergyman  might  come,  but  the  rest  might  stay  in  their  cloudy 
England.     He  didn't  want  them. 

Thinking  thus,  he  took  up  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

On  the  landing  he  met  St.  George,  and  he  said  at  once — 

"  St.  George,  go,  like  a  good  chap,  to  fetch  the  English 
parson.     Rose  is  getting  worse." 

St.  George,  who  had  been  employed  of  late  on  a  number  ol 
errands  for  Mrs.  Johns,  chiefly  under  instructions  from  Miss 
Wilson,  at  once  expressed  his  readiness  to  go.  The  unlucky 
youth  had  found  a  further  obstacle  to  his  matrimonial  prospects 
in  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Johns,  for  he  had  been  excluded  from 
the  sick  room  in  which  Miss  Wilson  now  passed  so  many  hours 
of  the  day.  And  although,  since  the  visit  to  the  pine  woods, 
he  had  watched  Johns's  behaviour  towards  Miss  Wilson  rather 
narrowly,  he  had  not  been  able  to  discover  anything  that  might 
confirm  his  incipient  suspicion.  He  was  waiting  patiently  for 
the  denouement  to  make  a  supreme  attempt. 

"  It's  hopeless,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  hopeless ! " 

St.  George  said,  "  Poor  woman ! "  and  went  off  upon  his 
errand. 

In  the  afternoon,  Johns  and  Miss  Wilson  were  sitting  in  the 
room  witnessing  the  sufferings  of  the  condemned  woman,  and 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  clergyman.  The  Sister,  not 
wishing  to  be  present  when  the  latter  came,  had  just  retired. 

Johns,  thinking  his  wife  asleep,  was  saying,  "  The  morphia 
no  longer  seems  to  give  her  much  relief,  Gwen ! "  when  his 
w  fe's  eyes  opened  and  her  gaze  wandered  from  the  young  girl 
to  him.  Whether  she  had  heard  her  husband  call  the  young 
girl  by  her  Christian  name,  or  whether  her  impression  was 
instinctive,  she  murmured  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible — 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  f8i 

"Ah,  yes,  you're  both  so  young  1  You'll  be  so  happy 
soon ! " 

Then  she  continued,  plaintively,  "  But  oh,  John,  say  that 
you  are  my  own  husband  while  I'm  here !  " 

He  answered  gravely,  "  Always  your  devoted  husband." 

She  gave  a  sigh  as  of  relief,  and  said,  "  I  have  not  always 
been  considerate  for  you,  my  John.  I  ought  to  have 
remembered  that  we  were  not — of  the  same  age ;  that  I  ought 
not  to  have  expected — ought  not  to  have  hoped  for  all  your 
love  !  But  a  woman  cannot  help  yearning  for  her  husband's 
love,  and  you,  my  John,  have  always  seemed  to  me  so  wonder- 
ful, so  perfect !  Will  you  forgive  me,  John,  if  I  have  been  unkind 
to  you  ?  " 

That  his  wife  should  ask  his  pardon  seemed  to  him 
astonishing,  but  he  replied — 

"  Yes,  Rose,  with  all  my  heart." 

Gwendoline,  on  hearing  this,  rose  from  her  seat,  saying  that 
she  thought  they  would  prefer  to  be  alone ;  but  Johns,  who,  for 
some  reason  he  could  scarcely  have  explained,  had  a  strong 
disinclination  to  be  left  alone,  entreated  her  to  stay. 

"  And,  John,"  the  sufferer  continued,  still  in  the  same  weak 
voice,  "  I  would  like  the  Dean  to  have  a  little  money." 

'*  He  shall  have  some.  Rose,  I  promise  you." 

"  If  I  really  cannot  live.  Oh,  John,  can  nothing  else  be 
done?  I  did  not  want  to  die  so  soon.  Is  there  no  other 
doctor  can  be  called  ?  " 

Johns  pretended  to  reflect  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  "  We 
might  send  to  London  for  another,  but  those  you've  seen  are 
very  good  physicians." 

But  the  poor  woman,  again  tortured  by  her  pain,  had  ceased 
to  listen.  Her  face  had  assumed  an  almost  livid  hue,  and  she 
sank  back  on  her  pillow  with  a  stifled  cry.  Gwen's  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"  How  she  must  be  suffering ! "  she  said,  and  Johns,  casting 
his  eyes  upwards,  answered,  "Yes,  Gwen!" 

Presently  the  curate  came.  He  was  a  thin  young  man,  with 
light  hair  and  a  light  moustache,  having  nothing  ecclesiastical 
in  his  appearance  except  his  clothes.  Taking  a  seat  which 
Johns  offered  him  by  the  bedside,  after  a  few  words  exchanged 
in  a  low  voice,  he  asked  the  patient  several  questions  to  which 
she  replied  somewhat  vaguely,  although  his  presence  did  not 
seem  to  cause  her  much  alarm.  In  a  few  minutes  he  produced 
a  morocco-covered  book  from  an  inner  pocket,  opened  it  at  a 
place  marked  by  a  blue  band,  and  began  to  read  a  chapter  from 
the  Epistle  of  St.  Paul  upon  the  vanity  of  the  present  life  and 


a8a  THE  ADVENTURES 

the  superiority  of  that  to  come.  Johns,  while  he  read,  looked 
blankly  at  the  floor.  Gwendoline  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
sufferer. 

When  he  had  finished  reading,  suddenly,  and  with  some 
agility,  the  curate  turned  in  his  chair  and  dropped  upon  his 
knees.     Johns  and  Gwen  followed  his  example. 

Then,  in  a  drawling  monotone,  which  reminded  Johns  some- 
what of  the  Dean's,  he  prayed  for  Mrs.  Johns,  asking  that  her 
life  might  be  eternally  continued  up  above,  and  that  the  good 
works  she  had  done  might  be  remembered.  We  poor  mortals 
knew,  he  said,  that  the  flesh  was  transient  and  dust-composed, 
a  garb  to  be  exchanged  for  a  more  etherial  raiment  in  a  world 
of  light  and  joy.  The  pleasures  of  the  world  were  vain  allure- 
ments which  no  good  Christian  should  regret.  He  entreated 
the  Divinity  to  show  clemency  towards  their  sister  lying  there 
upon  her  bed  of  pain.  As  surely  as  the  world  had  been 
redeemed,  their  trust  was  that  her  sins  would  be  forgiven.  All 
there  that  afternoon,  he  said,  had  confidence  in  the  divine 
compassion. 

After  he  had  finished  praying,  he  remained  so  long  upon  his 
knees  that  Johns  could  not  refrain  from  looking  through  his 
fingers  to  see  if  he  were  not  about  to  give  the  signal  to  get  up. 
For  the  moments  passed  in  genuflexion,  with  his  elbows  on 
the  cushion  of  his  chair,  seemed  long  to  Johns,  and  he  was 
beginning  to  wonder  if  the  young  man  had  not  gone  to  sleep. 

At  length  the  latter  rose ;  Gwendoline  and  Johns  rose  also. 

*'  Good-bye,"  the  curate  said  to  Mrs.  Johns,  bending  slightly 
over  her ;  "I'll  come  again  to-morrow." 

The  suffering  woman  moved  her  head  as  a  sign  that  she  had 
understood,  and  the  fair  young  man  withdrew. 

Mrs.  Johns  lingered  after  this  for  many  days.  She  declined 
indeed  so  slowly  that  Johns  began  to  feel  the  strain  the  daily 
watching  placed  upon  his  nerves.  The  silence  of  the  sick  room 
depressed  him.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  queer 
humanity  of  keeping  so  long  alive  a  being  hopelessly  con- 
demned. For  his  part,  had  he  been  in  his  wife's  condition,  the 
sooner  he  could  have  ended, the  better  he  would  have  liked  it. 
But  no,  there  was  some  sort  of  a  tradition  that  life  must  be  pre- 
served to  the  last  gasp,  even  at  the  expense  of  suffering.  It  was 
in  conformity  with  custom  to  go  on  giving  medicines  to  prolong 
the  miserable  existence  of  a  decayed  and  useless  body.  Well, 
the  genus  homo  had  its  superstitions  he  supposed,  and  one 
must  manage  to  have  patience  with  them. 

And  yet,  when  he  would  awaken  in  the  morning  and  open 
his  window  to  the  soothing  breath  of  spring,  full  of  fragrance 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  tSj 

and  of  promise,  he  would  readily  forget  that  his  wife  was  dying 
in  the  adjacent  room.  The  birds  were  always  singing  in  the 
pine  trees  a  loud  song  of  love,  and  the  sea  was  sparkling 
joyously.  A  flood  of  imperious  desires,  aims,  ambitions,  would 
mount  up  to  his  brain  in  a  confused  medley  of  aspirations. 

Riches,  power,  station,  all  seemed  wafted  on  the  breeze. 
Life  in  its  fullest  plenitude  smiled  at  him  seductively. 

Then,  when  he  would  remember  that  his  wife  was  leaving 
him,  a  vaguely  tender  melancholy  would  come  to  cast  a 
temporary  gloom  upon  his  feelings.  It  was  a  slight  ordeal 
to  go  through,  and  there  were  always  compensations  in  this 
world  of  accident  and  chance. 

Still,  the  ordeal  was  not  to  be  short,  for  Mrs.  Johns,  day 
after  day,  though  sinking  visibly,  continued  to  exist,  and  each 
day  Johns  had  to  listen  to  the  reading  and  the  praying  of  the 
curate,  to  see  Gwendoline  before  him  at  the  bedside,  always 
reserved  and  thoughtful,  and  to  be  present  during  the  brief 
visit  of  the  doctor. 

But  the  dying  woman,  in  her  waking  moments,  murmured 
constantly  the  same  two  words — 

"  Oh,  John  !  oh,  John  ! " 

And  throughout  the  day  they  sounded  in  Johns's  ears  until 
he  grew  well  nigh  sick  of  his  own  name,  so  greatly  the  endless 
repetition  increased  the  tension  of  his  nerves.  Sometimes  the 
words  seemed  almost  to  be  pronounced  reproachfully,  at  others 
it  was  as  though  they  were  merely  an  expression  of  her  pain. 
Whatever  they  might  mean,  they  disconcerted  him,  and  once, 
giving  way  to  a  semi-conscious  feeling  of  retaliation,  he  replied, 
"  Ah,  Rose !  ah,  Rose ! " 

It  was  not  until  the  tenth  day  after  she  had  been  pronounced 
to  be  declining  that  the  ultimate  break-up  took  place. 

In  the  morning,  as  if  she  felt  that  her  end  was  near,  she  had 
made  a  last  appeal  to  Johns  in  favour  of  her  relatives,  and 
mentioned  the  names  of  two  distant  cousins  to  whom  she 
desired  to  make  gifts. 

"Oh,  John,"  she  said,  when  she  had  finished,  "how  hard  it 
is  to  leave !  Pray  for  me  if  you  can,  John ;  I'm  afraid  I've 
not  been  too  good  a  woman.  Try  to  pray  for  me,  my 
John ! " 

There  was  no  one  in  the  room  except  the  Sister,  and  Johns 
replied — 

"  Sister  Marthe  will  pray  for  you  better  far  than  I." 

And  turning  to  the  Sister,  who  as  usual  was  looking  on  in 
silence,  he  said — 

"  Pray  for  her.  Sister  Marthe." 


a84  THE  ADVENTURES 

The  Sister  knelt  and  prayed. 

But  in  the  afternoon  she  sank  into  a  state  of  torpor,  which 
the  doctor,  when  he  called,  pronounced  to  be  the  last. 

Her  features  towards  six  o'clock,  when  Johns,  Miss  Wilson, 
and  her  father  and  St.  George  were  gathered  at  the  bedside, 
had  assumed  the  desperate  expression  which  sometimes  precedes 
death.  The  skin  had  taken  a  dark,  bluish  colour,  and  the 
cheeks  were  hanging  flaccidly.  The  weary  face  told  plainly  of 
the  struggle  which  was  nearly  over,  and  the  disordered  hair, 
undyed  now  and  streaked  with  grey,  of  the  abdication  of  her 
female  vanity. 

Already  the  breathing  had  become  uncertain,  hard  and  deep 
at  times,  at  others  so  imperceptible  that  for  a  moment  once, 
Johns  thought  life  extinct. 

Through  the  half-closed  curtains,  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
were  streaming,  shedding  a  golden  light  upon  the  face  of  the 
dying  woman,  and  the  fresh  spring  flowers,  dispersed  on  every 
niche  and  table  in  the  room,  lent  a  note  of  poetry  to  the  last 
moments.  Gradually  the  breathing  became  more  intermittent, 
the  features  more  definitely  rigid,  and  at  length,  after  a  supreme 
convulsion,  as  if  it  were  taking  a  last  leave  of  the  exhausted 
body,  the  breath  ceased. 

All  remained  seated,  watching.  The  nurse  prayed  audibly 
in  Latin.     Gwendoline's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

Johns's  face  betrayed  no  sign  of  what  he  felt. 

But  finally,  when  the  suspense  had  lasted  many  minutes, 
rising  to  his  feet,  he  said  impressively — 

"  My  friends,  the  end  has  come  ! " 

St.  George,  Gwen,  and  her  father  rose,  and  crossing  to  where 
Johns  was  standing,  pressed  his  hand  in  turn,  as  a  sign  of 
sympathy.  Then,  after  a  last  look  at  the  dead  woman,  they 
silently  withdrew — Gwen,  as  she  reached  the  door,  exchanging 
an  earnest  glance  with  Johns. 

As  soon  as  they  had  left,  Johns  turned  to  the  Sister, 
saying  — 

"  Close  her  eyes,  please.  Sister  Marthe,"  for  the  fixed  stare 
of  his  wife's  eyes  disconcerted  him,  and,  besides,  it  was  the 
custom. 

When  the  nurse  had  complied  with  his  request,  he  stood  for 
a  few  minutes  by  the  bedside,  thinking. 

Yes,  it  was  all  over.  Rose  had  left  for  good.  She  had 
departed  upon  that  grim,  vague  journey  from  which  there  was 
no  coming  back.  She,  and  all  her  little  troubles  and  her 
love,  had  passed  for  ever  from  the  world.  And  whither  had 
she  gone  ?    Into  that  conjectured  second  state  which  no  one 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  885 

could  describe,  which  none  had  evei  seen?  or  simply  into 
nothingness — the  state  to  which,  for  his  part,  he  believed  he 
would  return  ?  Ah,  the  huge  stupidity  of  not  knowing,  of 
belonging  to  a  race  of  imbeciles,  coming  they  know  not  whence, 
going  they  know  not  whither,  blindly  driven  by  their  instincts  ! 
And  there  she  lay,  this  partner  of  his  life,  dissolving  rapidly,  a 
mere  object,  a  mass  of  bones  and  tissues,  soon  to  be  taken 
away  from  that  large  white  bed  and  buried. 

Well,  she  had  had  her  share  of  pleasure  in  the  world — she 
had  had  more  husbands  than  are  given  to  the  majority  of 
women.  She  had  known  the  true  beatitude  of  wealth,  and 
she  had  gratified  a  last  ambition,  a  last  vanity,  when  she  had 
married  him.  Yes,  she  had  had  her  little  strut,  and  now  she 
had  reached  the  goal — the  goal  that  he  would  reach  in  time, 
after  he  had  made  life  yield  all  that  it  had  worth  having.  Life 
for  anyone  who  was  not  influenced  by  the  traditions,  who  did 
not  allow  himself  to  be  allured  by  the  chimeras,  who  possessed 
the  means  of  gratifying  the  greatest  of  all  instincts,  the  love  of 
power,  was  acceptable  enough,  even  if  it  must  end  in  nothing- 
ness. It  was  a  wonderful  arrangement  of  human  things  that 
Roses  were  supplied  to  men  like  him,  Roses  who  withered 
in  their  season ! 

These  reflections  over,  he  looked  around,  asking  himself 
what  was  to  be  done  next,  when  he  became  aware  that  the  eyes 
of  the  pale  Sister — large  thoughtful  eyes  which  seemed  to 
search  humanity — were  fixed  upon  him.  Quickly,  as  they  met 
his,  they  were  cast  down. 

What  was  she  thinking  of,  he  wondered  ?  What  could  be 
the  thoughts  of  this  voluntary  celibate,  this  constant  witness  of 
the  end  of  human  joys,  this  chaste  associate  of  human  misery? 
Was  she  comparing  his  demeanour  now  with  that  of  other 
husbands  she  had  seen  in  the  course  of  her  career  ?  If  so,  he 
would  be  curious  to  know  the  impression  she  derived.  Pro- 
bably she  thought  him  callous,  but  why  should  he  feign  grief 
which  he  did  not  feel  ?  And,  indeed,  if  he  had  yielded  10  his 
inclinations,  he  would  have  lit  a  cigarette  to  calm  his  nerves. 
But  no,  he  owed  it  to  the  memory  of  Rose  to  suffer  a  little  for 
her  sake,  and  the  Sister  might  nourish  whatever  thoughts  were 
capable  of  germinating  in  her  pious  brain.  Whatever  they 
might  be,  it  mattered  very  little.  The  thoughts  of  a  humble 
Sister  were  of  no  value  in  the  world. 

Asking  the  nun  to  tell  a  servant  to  summon  the  French 
doctor  to  witness  the  decease,  he  passed  into  his  room. 

There  he  took  some  sheets  of  paper  from  a  drawer,  and, 
throwing  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  began  to  scribble  telegrams. 


«86  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

Although  he  knew  the  interment  must  take  place  within 
eight-and-forty  hours,  he  calculated  that  there  would  be  time 
for  the  Dean  to  come  to  Cannes  if  he  wanted  to,  so  he  added 
at  the  end  of  the  telegram,  "Funeral  to-morrow." 

That  would  settle  it.  He  could  not  come  in  a  single  day, 
and  thus  he  wouldn't  be  there  to  meddle.  He  might  think 
himself  extremely  fortunate  if  one  of  his  extensive  brood  was 
sent  to  Eton. 

Two  days  afterwards,  Johns,  accompanied  by  Wilson,  St. 
George,  and  the  curate  who  had  said  the  customary  prayers, 
followed  what  was  left  of  his  wife  to  the  cemetery  of  Cannes. 
As  in  this  town  of  vaunted  healthfulness  and  pleasure  death  is 
concealed  as  much  as  possible,  the  rules  of  the  hotel  required 
that  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Johns,  covered  though  they  were  with 
flowers,  should  go  out  by  the  back  door,  and  thence,  accord- 
ingly, on  a  sunny  morning,  the  little  party  left,  marshalled  by 
an  official  di  \h&  pompes  funlbres  in  beadle's  uniform. 

Johns  and  Wilson  occupied  the  hind  part  of  the  carriage, 
and  St.  George  faced  them. 

On  the  journey  Johns  was  silent.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
bripf  meeting  he  had  had  that  morning  on  the  stairs  with 
Gwendoline,  and  the  plan  he  was  elaborating  in  his  mind 
entirely  engrossed  his  thoughts.     His  friends  were  silent  also. 

A  short  drive  through  back  streets  and  suburbs  brought  them 
to  the  cemetery,  and  there,  in  the  English  portion,  in  a  spot 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the  graves  of  consumptives  from  the 
British  Isles,  Mrs.  Johns  was  laid  to  rest  by  the  fair  young 
curate  in  a  white  surplice. 

The  return  journey,  after  the  brief  ceremony,  save  for  a  casual 
remark  made  by  Wilson  and  St.  George,  was  as  silent  as  the 
coming ;  but  when  they  reached  the  hotel  again,  Johns,  having 
parted  with  St.  George,  saying  that  he  was  tired  and  wished  to 
rest,  followed  Wilson  up  the  stairs  as  he  was  going  to  his  room. 

"  Mr.  Wilson,"  he  said,  "  to-morrow  I  would  like  to  speak  to 
you  in  private.     May  I  come  to  you  at  ten  ?  " 

Wilson,  who  seemed  somewhat  surprised,  replied — 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you,  Mr.  Johns,  at  ten." 


CHAPTER 
NINETEENTH 

THE  next  morning  when  Johns  awoke,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  delicious  sense  of  freedom.  Already  Rose  had  become 
a  figure  of  the  past,  and  life,  that  endless  chapter  which  he 
loved  to  read,  appeared  to  him,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  in  its  most 
alluring  aspects.  To  realize  his  dream  of  wealth  and  influence, 
the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  make  a  move  at  once  in 
Gwen's  affair ;  otherwise,  if  he  delayed,  there  was  a  chance  not 
only  that  the  beauty  of  Edith  Douglas,  of  which  his  recollections 
were  still  vivid,  might  cause  him  to  neglect  his  duty  to  himself, 
but  also  that  Wilson  might  take  his  daughter  suddenly  away, 
now  that  the  season  was  nearly  ended.  During  his  wife's, 
illness  he  had  obtained  precise  information  about  the  Wilsons. 
He  had  learned  that  the  fortune  of  the  father,  who  was  already 
a  millionaire,  was  increasing  daily  owing  to  the  productiveness 
of  his  land  investments  in  America,  and  that  the  daughter 
herself,  when  she  reached  the  age  of  twenty-one,  would  be 
entitled  to  a  considerable  dowry  under  the  terms  of  her  mother's 
marriage  settlement.  Everything,  therefore,  in  that  quarter  was 
satisfactory.    It  only  remained  for  him  to  play  his  cards  with  skill. 

Leaping  out  of  bed  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  important 
business  to  transact,  he  dressed  carefully  and  without  haste, 
thinking,  as  he  surveyed  himself  in  the  wardrobe  glass,  that  he 
looked  extremely  well  in  black,  that  his  well-cut  suit  of  mourning 
gave  him  a  sober  air  of  reticence  that  might  tend  perhaps  to 
mitigate  the  somewhat  bad  impression  which,  he  thought,  the 
current  rumours  had  made  Wilson  form  of  him. 

A  waiter  brought  him  coffee  as  soon  as  he  had  finished 
dressing.    He  poured  out  a  large  cupful  and  sipped  it  leisurely. 

Then,  as  the  clock  upon  the  mantel  pointed  to  a  few  minutes 
before  ten,  he  rose  and  left. 


288  THE  ADVENTURES 

The  Wilsons  occupied  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  floor  below, 
and  as  he  descended  the  stairs,  he  settled  in  his  mind  the  way 
he  would  commence  the  interview,  the  exact  words  he  would 
employ.  He  had  not  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Gwen  since 
the  funeral,  but  he  felt  quite  sure  of  her.  The  look  which  she 
had  given  him  that  day,  was  too  eloquent  to  be  mistaken. 
Probably  her  father  would  have  mentioned  his  request  for  a 
private  interview,  and  she  would  know  what  to  expect.  Passing 
along  the  corridor,  he  reached  a  door  bearing  the  Wilsons' 
number.  He  paused  a  moment  to  button  his  frock-coat,  then 
he  knocked. 

A  scarcely  audible  "  Come  in  "  invited  him  to  enter. 

Wilson  was  waiting  for  him  in  a  parlour  furnished  like  most 
of  the  rooms  of  the  hotel  in  the  Louis  XVI.  style,  and  draped 
with  yellow  damask.  There  was  a  round  table  in  the  centre,  a 
high-backed  sofa  against  the  wall,  and  a  few  fauteuils  and  chairs. 
The  room  had  the  conventional  appearance  which  hotel  rooms 
possess. 

Wilson  shook  hands  with  Johns  affably  enough,  though  his 
manner  was  reserved.  They  took  seats  upon  the  sofa,  and 
Johns  commenced  at  once. 

"Unusual  circumstances,  Mr.  Wilson,  have  always  seemed 
to  me  to  necessitate  unusual  methods.  I  hope,  therefore,  that 
when  I  tell  you  what  it  is  that  brings  me,  you  will  understand 
my  motives  and  excuse  my  want  of  orthodoxy.  I  know  I  can 
be  frank  with  you,  and  I'm  going  to  speak  freely.  It  would  be 
mere  hypocrisy  on  my  part  were  I  to  pretend  that  there  existed, 
between  my  late  wife  and  myself,  anything  more  than  friendly 
feelings.  She  was  many  years  my  senior,  and  she  was  quite 
reconciled  to  the  life  of  mere  companionship  we  led.  We  came 
here,  as  you  know,  because  she  thought  she  would  recover  from 
her  malady.  As  you  are  aware,  she  has  succumbed.  During 
our  stay,  however,  we  were  fortunate  enough  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  yourself  and  of  your  daughter." 

He  dwelt  a  moment  upon  the  word  "  daughter,"  and  as 
Wilson  remained  impassive,  he  continued — 

"  For  the  last  few  months  I  have  been  privileged  to  meet 
Miss  Wilson  often,  and  I  have  been  able  to  appreciate  her 
qualities,  her  graceful  nature,  her  intelligence,  her  charm. 
There  has  grown  up  between  us  a  tender  feeling  which  could 
not  be  expressed  for  the  reason  that  I  was  not  free.  Day  by 
day  I  saw  her  watching  at  poor  Rose's  bedside  with  touching 
patience  and  devotion,  and  gradually  I  became  so  much 
attached  to  her  that  I  resolved,  if  my  wife  should  die,  I  would 
ask  her  hand.     I  don't  think  I  am  wrong  in  believing  that  my 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  aSg 

affection  is  returned.  When  speaking  to  Miss  Wilson,  I  have 
always  felt  that  there  was  a  community  of  tastes,  an  unfailing 
sympathy  between  us.  I  will  go  further  and  confess  that,  as 
far  as  I  was  able  in  the  circumstances  in  which  I  found 
myself,  I  have  ascertained  her  feelings.  As  regards  my 
income,  I  may  say  that,  though  scarcely  rich,  I  am  not  poor. 
I  have  between  six  and  seven  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
Mr.  Wilson,  you  are  leaving  soon,  and  there  is  urgency.  I 
ask  you  for  your  daughter's  hand  ! " 

A  frown  had  been  gathering  on  Wilson's  face  while  Johns 
was  speaking.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  replied  in  a 
firm  voice — 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Johns,  but  I  have  other  views." 

Johns  was  not  altogether  unprepared  for  a  refusal,  hjit  he 
did  not  expect  that  it  would  be  so  decided. 

"You  hare  other  views,"  he  repeated,  slowly,  "and  you 
refuse  ? " 

"  I  regret  to  say  I  do." 

"You  have  heard,  perhaps,  one  of  the  many  calumnies  which 
jealous  people  circulate  about  me?" 

"I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Johns,  that  I  cannot  enter  into  further 
reasons." 

Johns,  vexed  and  baffled,  eyed  Wilson  narrowly.  What  did 
this  old  nobody  with  his  enigmatic  answers  mean  ?  By  God, 
he'd  soon  find  out  the  kind  of  man  he  had  to  deal  with !  He 
wasn't  going  to  mystify  him  in  that  way  for  nothing. 

"  But,"  he  said,  with  emphasis,  "  what  if  Miss  Wilson 
doesn't  share  those  views  ?  I  suppose  you  would  not  thwart 
her  wishes!" 

Wilson  grew  very  red. 

"  I  refuse,"  he  said,  "  to  consider  such  a  possibility." 

"  I  think  you'll  find  she'll  tell  you  it's  the  case." 

Wilson  rose. 

"Have  you  by  chance  been  working  on  my  daughter's 
feelings  ?  " 

Johns,  rising  also,  answered — 

"  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  be  preferred  by  her." 

Wilson  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"All  I  have  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Johns,  is  that  I  refuse  my 
sanction." 

"  That  is  your  final  answer  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Mr.  Wilson,  we  need  say  no  more  about 
it.  I'm  leaving  Cannes  to-morrow,  and  as  I  shall  probably  not 
have  another  opportunity  of  seeing  you,  for  the  present  I  will 

V 


ago  THE  ADVENTURES 

say  good-bye.  Perhaps  the  day  may  come  when  you'll  regret 
having  been  so  obdurate." 

Wilson  did  not  answer,  and,  after  a  slight  bow,  Johns 
withdrew. 

He  returned  to  his  room  to  think.  The  refusal  had  been 
absolute.  The  taciturn  old  fellow  had  simply  shown  him  to 
the  door.  Well,  that  being  so,  the  time  had  come  to  act.  He 
had  told  Wilson  he  was  leaving  the  next  day  merely  to  prevent 
him  from  taking  Gwendoline  away,  as  he  might,  under  the 
circumstances,  have  been  inclined  to  do  j  but  now  the  plan,  of 
which  this  announcement  was  only  the  forerunner,  had  to  be 
elaborated. 

He  thought  for  half  an  hour,  and  at  length  he  went  to  the 
writing  table  in  the  corner  and  began  to  write — 

"  Gwendoline  !  This  morning  I  asked  your  father  for  your 
hand.  He  refused  me  flatly  !  Something  must  be  done !  I 
told  him  I  was  leaving  Cannes  to-morrow,  but  I'm  only  leaving 
the  hotel.  As  I  don't  want  to  appear  at  meals  to-day,  I 
entreat  you  to  meet  me  this  evening  on  the  terrace  after  your 
father  has  retired.  Don't  fail  to  come,  my  Gwen,  my  life, 
my  joy!  My  thoughts  are  full  of  you  from  morning  until 
night." 

After  he  had  written  this  little  note,  he  read  it  over  twice  and 
it  seemed  to  him  to  contain  that  mixture  of  circumstance  and 
naive  enthusiasm  which,  to  a  woman  much  in  love,  he  believed 
to  be  more  eloquent  than  the  finest  phrases. 

Feeling  satisfied,  he  folded  up  the  missive  and  enclosed  it 
in  an  envelope. 

Then,  after  a  few  more  moments  of  reflection,  he  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket  and  left  his  room. 

Going  down  the  stairs  again,  he  wacdeied  about  the  passages, 
passing  the  open  doors  of  rooms  which  weie  being  cleaned,  and 
at  length,  as  he  was  turning  a  corner  ci  the  corridor,  he  sud- 
denly found  himself  face  to  face  with  an  elderly  chambermaid 
in  coijffi  and  apron.  As  he  looked  as  though  he  wished  to  speak 
to  her,  she  said — 

"Monsieur  desires  something?" 

He  answered,  "Are  you  not  the  chambermaid  who  waits 
upon  the  Wilson  family?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Then,"  he  said,  putting  a  louis  in  her  hand  and  producing 
his  note,  "  I  want  you  to  give  this,  in  private,  to  Miss  Wilson 
on  the  first  opportunity  you  get  to-day.  But,  remember,  no 
one  must  see  you  give  it." 

The  woman  took  the  note. 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  tgi 

"  Monsieur  can  be  quite  easy.  I'll  do  exactly  as  monsieur 
wishes," 

Having  thus  taken  the  first  step  in  the  execution  of  his  plan, 
he  left  the  hotel  by  the  side  door  to  avoid  meeting  St.  George 
or  being  seen  by  anyone.  The  morning  was  somewhat  dull. 
Large  white  clouds  surcharged  with  moisture  had  obscured  the 
sun,  and  Johns  walked  to  and  fro  at  the  side  of  the  hotel  for  a 
few  minutes,  enjoying  the  cool  freshness  of  the  morning  air. 
Presently  he  hailed  a  fly  that  was  passing  on  the  front,  but  just 
as  he  was  getting  into  it  he  was  accosted,  to  his  surprise,  by  a 
stout  man  in  mourning. 

Recognizing  Dawson,  he  exclaimed  — 

"  What,  you  here,  Dawson  !" 

"Yes,"  Dawson  answered,  dolefully.  "  You  know,  I  suppose, 
the  loss  I  have  sustained." 

"How  should  I?" 

"My  poor  wife !" 

"Dead,  Dawson?" 

"  Yes,  Johns  !     A  month  ago." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Johns,  gravely,  noticing  the  man's  downcast 
look,  "  I'm  very  sorry." 

Dawson  then  explained  that  his  wife  had  been  a  sufferer  for 
some  time  from  an  affection  of  the  heart,  to  which  she  had  at 
length  succumbed.  He  had  sent  no  cards,  but  an  announce- 
ment in  the  papers  had  been  made. 

"  Well,"  said  Johns,  when  he  had  finished,  "  we're  brothers 
in  misfortune.     My  wife  has  left  me  also." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Johns  is " 

"Dead,  Dawson!" 

Dawson's  face  expressed  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  half-sincere 
condolence. 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  thinking  of  Johns's  stupendous 
luck. 

He  merely  said,  "Dear  me,  how  sad!" 

Johns,  however,  was  in  a  hurry  to  attend  to  his  own  business, 
and  he  said  good-bye,  after  telling  Dawson  that  he  was  leaving 
probably  the  next  day.  His  parting  admonition,  as  he  shook 
his  hand,  was,  "Cheer  up,  Dawson  !" 

Then,  giving  an  address  to  the  driver  of  his  fly,  he  took  his 
seat  and  was  driven  off. 

Poor  little  Lucy !  he  reflected.  Truly  it  was  a  pity,  for  she 
was  a  good  little  woman  after  all,  and  he  almost  wished  he  had 
more  time  to  feel  a  little  sorry  for  her.  Only,  she  wasn't  meant 
to  fall  in  love  with  anybody  but  a  husband.  She  took  it  all  too 
seriously,  and  perhaps,  who  knew  ?  she  had  fretted  herself  ioto 


2ga  THE  ADVENTURES 

the  illness  by  which  she  had  been  carried  off!  Women 
were  fragile  creatures  sometimes  !  There  was  only  Ellen  who 
took  things  with  philosophy.  What  a  woman  Ellen  was,  in  spite 
of  the  mellowness  by  which  she  had  been  overtaken,  perhaps 
because  of  it !  When  he  returned  to  town  he  would  see  her 
with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  For  the  present,  however,  he 
must  not  think  of  Edith.  Ah,  Edith  was  going  to  be  lost  to 
him  if  his  plan  succeeded  ! 

The  carriage  followed  the  Antibes  road  for  a  considerable 
distance  until,  at  length,  it  stopped  before  a  square  white  villa 
in  a  garden  half-hidden  by  the  trees  surrounding  it.  Upon  a 
a  board  fixed  to  the  railings  was  inscribed,  Villa  Celli,  Apparte- 
ments  garnis  i  louer.  Johns  alighted  and  unlatched  the  gate. 
Passing  up  the  gravel  path,  he  knocked  at  the  front  door.  He 
was  admitted  by  a  stout  woman  in  a  dressing-gown,  who,  on 
learning  that  he  had  come  to  see  the  house,  showed  him  into 
a  little  parlour  filled  almost  to  repletion  with  ebony  and  gold 
furniture,  the  walls  being  hung  with  mirrors,  the  hangings  being 
of  blue  velvet. 

Johns  looked  around  and  asked,  "  Are  all  the  rooms  furnished 
like  this  one,  madame?" 

The  woman  with  much  volubility  assured  him  that  they 
were,  as  he  would  see  if  he  gave  himself  the  trouble  to  go 
round. 

Johns  passed  into  the  adjoining  bedroom,  also  draped  through- 
out with  blue. 

Being  satisfied,  he  said,  '*  I'll  take  the  house." 

Then,  after  agreeing  as  to  the  terms,  paying  a  week's  rent  in 
advance  and  glancing  at  the  other  rooms,  he  left,  saying  that  he 
would  arrive  next  day. 

Jumping  into  his  trap  again,  he  was  driven  back  to  the  hotel. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  day  he  stayed  in  his  own  rooms, 
causing  his  meals  to  be  served  him  there,  and  telling  the  waiter 
to  say  he  was  unwell  to  anyone  who  called.  He  wished 
especially  to  avoid  St.  George. 

The  day  passed  tediously  and  rather  anxiously.  He  felt  that 
everything  was  still  uncertain,  and  that  failure  in  the  enterprise 
he  had  in  hand  was  quite  within  the  bounds  of  possibility. 
Much  depended  on  his  meeting  with  Gwendoline  that  night. 

He  wiled  away  the  hours,  reading,  until  dinner  time.  After 
dinner  he  smoked  numerous  cigars,  reclining  in  an  arm-chair 
with  his  feet  upon  the  sofa  in  transatlantic  fashion,  until  the 
clock  struck  ten.  Then  he  rose,  put  on  his  overcoat  and  a  soft 
felt  hat,  and  left  his  rooms. 

Descending  by  a  little  staircase  used  chiefly  by  the  servants; 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  t93 

he  found  himself  in  a  courtyard  paved  with  stones  and  dimly 
lit  by  the  lights  from  the  windows  of  the  house.  He  crossed 
this  rapidly,  and  worked  round  the  building  by  the  shrubbery 
until  he  reached  the  walk  in  front  of  the  hotel  which  was  called 
the  terrace. 

As  it  was  a  dark  night  he  was  able  to  place  himself  in  an 
angle  of  the  building,  out  of  the  stream  of  light  which  issued 
from  the  door  of  the  hotel.  He  knew  he  was  too  early,  for 
although  Wilson  generally  retired  at  about  ten  to  his  own 
sitting-room  whenever  they  did  not  spend  the  evening  at  the 
Casino,  yet  some  time  must  elapse  before  Gwendoline  would  be 
able  to  quit  her  father.  What  if  her  courage  failed  her  at  the 
last  moment !  But  no,  she  seemed  a  pretty  resolute  young 
lady,  and  after  all  there  was  nothing  so  very  terrible  in  the  pro- 
ceeding. The  only  danger  was  that  in  passing  through  the  hall 
she  might  meet  friends.  Surely  she  would  have  sense  enough 
to  come  out  by  the  back  door. 

He  waited  for  some  time,  listening  to  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
but  the  hotel  was  unusally  quiet,  and  the  only  sounds  he  heard 
were  an  occasional  note  of  music  from  the  drawing-room  or  a 
peal  of  laughter  from  an  open  window  up  above.  Had  some- 
thing happened  to  prevent  her  coming  ?  He  was  beginning  to 
grow  anxious. 

Suddenly,  when  he  had  been  there  nearly  half  an  hour,  he 
heard  the  rustle  of  a  dress,  and  a  light  tread  upon  the  path.  In 
another  moment  Gwen,  her  head  wrapped  in  a  lace  mantilla 
which  almost  hid  her  face,  appeared. 

"  Not  here,"  he  whispered,  "  it's  too  near  the  house,"  and  he 
led  her  quickly  to  a  dark  place  beneath  the  pine  trees  in  the 
grounds. 

"  Oh,  Gwen,"  he  whispered,  encircling  her  waist,  "if  you  only 
knew  how  I  have  been  waiting  for  this  moment !  The  day  has 
seemed  so  long,  so  long !  I  feared  that  something  might  pre- 
vent your  coming — that  your  father  might  have  taken  you  away; 
I  feared  a  thousand  things." 

"  My  father  stayed  up  later  than  he  generally  does,  and  so  I 
could  not  leave." 

"  But  now  you've  come,  my  Gwen.  Now  I  have  you  near 
me,  now  I  can  hear  your  voice,  now  I  can  tell  you  all  I  have  to 
say !     Has  your  father  told  you  of  our  interview  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  to  me  this  morning  in  a  dreadful  rage  and 
told  me  that  such  a  reprobate  as  you,  who  had  only  buried  his 
wife  the  day  before,  had  had  the  impudence  to  ask  him  for  me. 
He  warned  me  that,  if  by  chance  I  liked  you,  he  would  never 
give  us  his  consent.     I  said  that  you  were  not  a  reprobate,  that 


194  THE  ADVENTURES 

I  liked  you  very  much,  and  that  I  would  marry  no  one  else  but 
you." 

"  You  said  that,  Gwen  ! " 

"  I  should  think  I  did." 

"  And  what  did  he  reply  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  in  that  case  I  should  have  to  remain  single." 

"  Gwen,  are  you  ready  to  take  a  bold  step  ?  " 

"What,  John?" 

"  Listen.  Your  father  is  a  very  obstinate  old  gentleman,  and 
it's  no  use  to  try  persuasion  with  him.  We  must  take  our 
destinies  into  our  own  hands.  Nothing  was  ever  gained, 
Gwen,  by  submitting  patiently  to  tyranny.  Your  dear  papa 
refuses ;  we  must  force  him  to  consent ! " 

"Oh,  but  how?" 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  This  very  morning  I  drove  out  on 
the  Antibes  road — the  road  we  took  that  day  when  I  first 
told  you  how  you  had  enchanted  me — and  I  found  the  prettiest 
of  little  villas,  a  perfect  paradise,  hidden  in  a  nest  of  trees,  in 
the  quaintest  of  French  gardens,  in  the  quietest  of  nooks. 

"  Immediately,  as  it  was  to  let,  I  took  it,  and  now  I  entreat 
you,  I  implore  you,  Gwen,  to  come  with  me  to-morrow  night. 
No  one  shall  see  you  come.  I  will  wait  for  you  here  at  the 
same  time,  and  we  will  walk  there  like  two  lovers  arm-in-arm 
so  joyfully.  The  people  of  the  house  will  be  bribed  to  secrecy, 
and  there  you  will  remain  with  me  as  though  you  were  my 
sister  for  a  week — perhaps  only  for  a  day — until  your  father 
yields,  as  he  will  to  prevent  a  scandal.  And  we  will  be  so 
happy  there,  so  happy,  and  not  a  soul  will  be  allowed  to 
interrupt  our  happiness.     Gwen,  say  that  you  will  come  ! " 

But  Gwen  was  silent 

"  Oh,"  she  said  at  length,  "  that  I  could  not  do.  Fancy  the 
scandal  there  would  be  in  the  hotel  and  among  our  friends  in 
Cannes ! " 

"  You  won't  brave  it  for  my  sake  % " 

But  she  repeated,  "  Not  in  Cannes  !    Oh,  not  in  Cannes  !  " 

An  inspiration  came  to  Johns.  Why  had  he  not  thought  of 
it  before  ?  Of  course,  like  all  her  sex,  the  little  girl  had  local 
prejudices,  as  he  termed  those  scruples  of  environment  which 
sometimes  have  an  influence  on  women's  acts,  and  she  shrank 
from  taking  so  bold  a  step,  in  a  place  where  she  was  known. 
Perhaps,  with  her  woman's  instinct,  she  was  right,  and  his  little 
scheme  was  short-sighted  after  all !  Cannes  was  not  large 
enough  for  that.    Quickly,  another  plan  suggested  itself  to  him. 

Drawing  her  nearer  to  him,  and  whispering  softly  in  her  ear, 
he  said — 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  295 

"  Gwen,  my  little  Gwen,  I  have  no  other  thought  in  life  but 
to  make  you  happy.  If  you  think  you  would  not  like  the  Villa 
we'll  go  to  Paris  !  There,  in  that  great  city,  where  we  are 
unknown,  we  shall  be  free.  Oh,  and  it  will  be  so  delightful ! 
I  will  show  you  a  thousand  things  you've  never  seen.  I  will 
take  you  through  old  Paris,  with  its  quaint  old  houses  and  its 
fine  old  churches.  We  will  explore  the  students'  quarter,  we 
will  go  to  places  where  we  shouldn't,  we  will  see  everything, 
have  constant  fun.     Say,  Gwen,  you'll  come." 

"  To  Paris  ! "  she  repeated,  "  oh,  how  could  I  ?  " 

He  felt  that  she  would  yield,  and  he  continued — 

"  So  easily !  We  would  take  the  night  express,  my  Gwen 
when  everyone  had  gone  to  bed,  and  the  next  evening  we  would 
be  in  Paris !  It  would  be  all  done  so  quietly,  so  well,  and 
afterwards  your  father  would  be  obliged  to  give  us  his  consent. 
There  would  be  no  help  for  it ! " 

For  a  few  moments  Gwen  reflected.     Presently  she  said — 

"  I  should  like  to,  for  I  know  that  he  would  never  give  it 
otherwise.     But  do  you  think  I  really  could  ?  " 

"  I'm  absolutely  certain." 

'*  And  you  would  promise  that,  however  long  we  might  be 
together,  you  would  treat  me  as  a  sister?" 

"  Gwen,  I  promise." 

'*  Then  I  suppose  I  must  say  yes.  But  not  for  a  little  while: 
It  would  be  too  dreadful,  only  a  few  days  after  your  poor  wife's 
funeral." 

Rapidly  Johns  counted  up  the  issues.  On  the  one  hand,  all 
delay  was  dangerous ;  on  the  other,  a  woman's  scruples  could 
not  quite  be  set  aside.  Still,  as  the  balance  of  advantage  in 
such  cases  must  always  be  upon  the  side  of  actuality,  he 
resolved  to  urge  the  need  for  immediate  flight  again. 

He  said,  "  I'm  so  distrustful  of  delay.  Your  father  might 
suddenly  leave  Cannes,  or  something  unforeseen  might  happen. 
Gwen,  let  us  go  to-morrow  night  ?  " 

But  he  felt  that  she  recoiled. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  so  soon  as  that,"  she  cried. 

From  the  instinctive  movement  she  had  made,  and  from  her 
tone,  he  judged  that  it  would  be  better  to  effect  a  compromise. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said,  decisively,  "  let  us  arrange  it  for  a  week 
hence." 

"  Oh,  that's  my  birthday  ! " 

'*  Your  twenty-first,  Gwen  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  guessed.     But  then,  so  much  the  better." 

She  reflected,  and  at  length  she  murmured  with  a  sigh — 


ig6  THE  ADVENTURES 

"  Next  Friday,  then  ! " 

"  And  will  you  promise  faithfully  you'll  come  ?  " 

"  I  promise  faithfully  ! " 

Then,  feeling  satisfied  at  the  firmness  with  which  she  had 
said  this,  he  told  her  how  it  would  be  arranged.  She  would 
leave  the  house  in  the  same  way  as  she  had  left  that  night,  and 
he  would  meet  her  in  the  road.  Together  they  would  walk  up 
to  the  station.  She  would  be  careful  to  put  on  her  thickest 
veil  and  a  long  cloak.  She  would  want  no  luggage.  P>ery- 
thing  would  be  provided  at  their  journey's  end.  Each  day  she 
would  write  to  him  at  the  Villa  Celli,  where  he  intended  to 
remain  in  strict  seclusion  the  w^hole  week,  and  he  would  answer 
her  />osfe  resiante.  Relying  on  her  promise,  he  was  certain, 
absolutely  certain  of  success. 

She  answered  that  she  would  do  exactly  as  he  wished.  He 
need  have  no  fear.     She  would  keep  her  promise. 

He  thanked  her,  earnestly  vowing  that  his  gratitude  was  too 
great  for  words,  that  her  happiness  would  be  the  study  of  his 
life.  And  how  happy  they  would  be !  How  kind  she  was, 
how  good ! 

To  seal  the  compact  they  had  made,  he  kissed  her  gently. 
They  lingered  for  a  few  moments,  during  which  both  were 
silent,  and  at  length  she  whispered — 

"  I  must  leave  you  now.     It's  getting  late." 

He  murmured,  "  Must  you,  Gwendoline  ? "  and  slowly  he 
released  her  from  his  arms.  She  quitted  him  after  a  last 
assurance  that  she  would  keep  her  promise,  and  in  the  dim 
light  he  watched  her  retreating  form  until  it  disappeared  into 
the  house. 

Then,  after  lighting  a  cigar,  he  strolled  up  and  down  the 
lawn.  He  scarcely  knew  if  he  was  satisfied.  It  was  a  great 
thing  to  have  induced  her  to  consent;  but  the  week's  delay 
which  she  demanded  would  be  hard  to  pass,  and  there  was 
just  a  possibility  of  something  happening  on  which  he  did 
not  count.  On  the  other  hand,  on  that  day  she  would  be 
entitled  to  her  mother's  legacy,  and  that  was  a  consideration. 
By  God,  what  a  prize  she  was !  Fancy  that  fool  St.  George 
thinking  he  could  win  her !  No,  such  windfalls  weren't  for 
St.  Georges.  There  was  nothing  to  do  for  it  but  to  wait. 
The  little  girl  was  thoroughly  in  love  with  him,  and  he  was 
certain  she  would  keep  her  word.  He  knew  her  character,  and 
that  it  was  not  wanting  in  decision.  He  finished  his  cigar  and 
then  went  in  to  give  notice  of  his  leaving  the  next  day. 

The  next  morning  he  rose  early.  As  soon  as  he  had  dressed, 
and  while  his  late  wife's  luggage  and  his  own  was  being  taken 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  a97 

down  to  the  carriage  which  was  to  convey  him  to  the  station, 
he  thought  he  would  amuse  himself  by  paying  a  parting  visit  to 
St.  George. 

He  found  the  young  man  still  in  bed. 

"  I'm  in  a  great  hurry,"  Johns  exclaimed,  as  St.  George  was 
opening  his  eyes,  "  I'm  off  at  once,  and  I  just  came  in  to 
say  good-bye." 

St.  George  started  up  in  bed  and  looked  at  Johns  enquiringly 
at  first,  and  then  with  a  satisfied  expression. 

"  Oh,  you're  going,  Johns  ! " 

"  The  carriage  is  waiting  for  me  at  this  very  moment,  and  as 
I'm  late  I  haven't  time  to  talk.  Good-bye,  St.  George,  and  good 
luck  with  the  little  heiress.    You'll  be  a  rich  man  yet,  my  boy." 

St.  George  smiled  half  complacently  and  half  sceptically. 
Johns,  who  did  not  want  to  prolong  the  interview,  pressed  his 
friend's  hand,  saying  that  they  would  meet  again  in  London, 
and  left  him  to  his  reflections. 

A  few  minutes  later  Johns  was  in  the  hotel  omnibus.  As 
the  vehicle  was  being  driven  off,  he  thrust  his  head  out  of 
the  window  and  looked  up  towards  Wilson's  suite  of  rooms 
on  the  first  floor  of  the  hotel  building,  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  catch  a  glimpse  of  Gwen.  He  saw,  to  his  delight,  the 
young  girl  standing  at  her  window  leaning  on  the  rail.  She 
kissed  her  hand  to  him,  and  in  acknowledgment  he  raised  his 
hat,  giving  her  an  earnest  glance. 

When  he  reached  the  station,  whither,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  fiction  that  he  was  leaving  Cannes,  he  had  thought  it 
prudent  to  repair,  he  told  the  porters  that  he  would  not  leave 
before  the  evening  train,  and  he  ordered  them  to  place  his 
luggage  in  the  cloak-room.  Then,  after  waiting  until  the  train 
had  left,  and  the  station  had  become  empty,  he  set  out  on 
foot  for  the  Villa  Celli  by  the  least-frequented  road. 

Here,  for  a  week,  he  lived  in  absolute  seclusion  under  an 
assumed  name,  obtaining  what  he  needed  from  the  town  in  the 
way  of  books  and  linen  through  a  messenger,  and  keeping  up  a 
correspondence  with  his  fiancee^  who  wrote  to  him  each  day. 
The  time  in  this  pleasant  villa  passed  more  quickly  than  he  had 
anticipated,  and  as  the  letters  he  had  received  from  Gwen 
denoted  no  change  in  her  intentions,  he  continued  to  feel 
confident  of  the  success  of  his  undertaking.  No  doubt  she 
showed  herself  a  little  timorous,  and  had  some  qualms  of 
conscience,  but  then  he  knew  that  he  was  asking  her  to 
take  a  very  bold  step  indeed.  The  qualms  of  the  female 
conscience,  he  considered,  seldom  prevented  women  from 
following    what   were    called    the    dictates   of   their    hearts, 


298  THE  ADVENTURES 

especially  when  they  desired  to  obey  them.  \Vhat  wonderful 
contrivances  for  self-deception  women  were !  How  admirably 
they  were  designed  by  nature  to  gratify  a  man's  desires !  On  the 
fifth  day  of  his  sojourn,  the  post  brought  him  a  letter  from 
Gwendoline  which  related,  humorously,  the  way  in  which 
St.  George  had  made  his  last  proposal.  The  previous  evening 
after  dinner  on  the  terrace,  he  had  unburdened  to  her  his 
pent-up  feelings,  and  she  had  answered  in  her  father's  words 
that  she  had  other  views. 

"  Poor  St.  George,"  she  said,  "  he  looks  so  sad,  and  he  is 
going  to  leave  at  once." 

She  told  him  also  in  the  same  letter  that  her  father,  although 
he  seemed  relieved  when  he  heard  that  Johns  had  left,  had 
been  very  bearish,  and  had  watched  her  since  so  narrowly  that 
she  had  only  once  been  able  to  call  for  letters  at  the  post-office. 
Ah,  well,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all  that  soon ;  but  what  a 
daring  thing  it  was  to  do  ! 

Johns  smiled  when  he  had  read  the  note,  and  as  the  time 
of  their  flight  was  drawing  near,  he  sat  down  and  indited  a 
letter  full  of  love  and  promise  and  enthusiasm,  well  calculated 
to  sustain  her  courage. 

At  length  the  appointed  evening  came. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  Johns,  impressed  with  a  full  sense  of 
the  importance  of  the  venture,  left  his  villa  and  set  out  for  the 
hotel.  He  had  preferred  to  walk,  partly  because  he  had  time 
to  spare,  partly  because  the  hire  of  a  carriage  might  afford  a 
clue  if  an  enquiry  were  made  next  day,  and  in  cases  such  as 
this,  it  was  impossible  to  be  too  cautious. 

It  was  a  moonlight  night,  as  he  saw  with  dissatisfaction,  and 
the  villas  which  he  passed  were  looking  snow-white  amid  the 
trees.  Cannes  appeared  proud  and  peaceful  in  the  day-like 
brightness,  Johns,  however,  was  thinking  little  of  the  scene, 
and  scarcely  heeded  his  surroundings.  His  thoughts  were 
concentrated  on  the  business  of  the  evening. 

When  he  reached  the  precincts  of  the  hotel,  he  found,  on 
looking  at  his  watch,  that  it  was  still  early,  and  therefore, 
putting  up  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  and  bringing  his  soft  felt 
hat  well  forward  over  his  eyes  to  avoid  being  recognized,  he 
passed  the  time  in  walking  up  and  down  a  lane  of  aloe  trees  in 
the  rear  of  the  hotel. 

At  length,  when  another  consultation  of  his  watch  had  told  him 
that  the  time  of  the  meeting  was  drawing  near,  he  left  the  lane 
to  saunter  round  the  entrance  of  the  grounds.  To  his  annoy- 
ance, when  he  reached  the  gate  and  looked  towards  the  terrace 
he  recognized  St  George,  who  was  walking  slowly  to  and  fro  as 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  299 

if  in  thought.  This  threatened  to  complicate  affairs,  for  how, 
he  asked  himself,  was  Gwen  to  leave  as  long  as  that  idiot 
remained  there?  He  was  beginning  to  feel  uneasy,  and 
heartily  cursed  St.  George. 

The  time  appointed  soon  arrived,  and  yet  there  were  no 
signs  of  Gwen,  and  still  St.  George  continued  to  pace  the 
path.  Johns  felt  he  could  have  choked  him.  Really  it  would 
be  too  much  if  the  plan  fell  through  on  his  account.  Of 
course,  Gwen  might  come  out  by  the  back  door ;  but  he  knew 
that  that  was  sometimes  closed  rather  early  in  the  evening. 
There  was  very  little  time  to  lose.  The  train  would  leave  at 
nineteen  minutes  past  eleven,  and  unless  she  came  at  once, 
there  would  not  be  time  to  walk  up  to  the  station.  Surely  his 
luck  wasn't  going  to  desert  him  now  ! 

His  perturbation  became  so  great,  that,  unable  to  remain 
still,  he  paced  up  and  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall.  At 
length  as  he  was  looking  up  at  the  young  girl's  room,  he 
perceived  a  light,  as  of  a  candle,  held  suddenly  before  the 
window  for  a  moment.  This  made  his  pulse  beat  faster, 
though  it  left  him  in  perplexity.  What  did  the  signal  mean  ? 
That  she  was,  or  that  she  was  not  coming  ?  He  was  not  able 
to  determine,  though  it  seemed  to  augur  well. 

A  few  moments  elapsed,  during  which  the  room  was  lit  as 
by  a  faint  light ;  then  it  relapsed  again  into  darkness. 

"  Now,"  thought  Johns,  "  if  she  means  to  come,  she'll  come, 
though  it's  deuced  late." 

Waiting  until  St.  George  had  nearly  reached  the  remote  end 
of  the  gravel  walk,  he  quitted  his  place  of  ambush  and  ran 
round  quickly,  passing  over  the  grass  of  the  flower-beds  to 
avoid  noise,  to  a  corner  of  the  building  where  he  had  waited 
once  before.  If  Gwen  should  come  he  would  thus  be  able  tr 
encourage  her. 

Almost  as  he  arrived  there  he  heard  a  hurried  footstep  on 
the  path.  He  looked  in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  and 
saw  Gwen  turning  the  corner  of  the  house.  There  was  not  a 
moment  to  be  lost.  He  glanced  in  the  direction  of  St.  George, 
and  seeing  that  he  had  stopped  at  the  end  of  his  walk  and  was 
lighting  a  cigar,  he  darted  quickly  to  the  young  girl's  side  and 
whispered,  "  It's  all  right,  Gwen.     Now,  follow  me." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  entrance  gate,  and  she  followed  at  a 
few  yards'  distance.  Then,  when  they  reached  the  road,  he 
seized  her  arm  and  whispered — 

"  Gwen,  it's  very  late,  we  must  simply  fly  up  to  the  station." 
"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it  was  so  dreadful !     A  visitor  came  in  and 
I  could  not  get  away.     I  feared  it  was  too  late.     Oh,  what 
should  we  do,  then  ?  " 


300  THE  ADVENTURES 

Johns  reassured  her,  and  they  walked  so  fast  that  they  had 
no  breath  left  to  speak.  It  seemed  to  both  of  them  that  they 
would  never  walk  fast  enough ;  that  the  houses  and  the  villas 
they  had  to  pass  would  never  end. 

Gwen,  being  short,  could  not  take  long  steps,  and  the  road 
appeared  interminable.  Carriages  passed  them,  bound  also  for 
the  station,  and  each  time  they  were  forced  to  turn  away  their 
faces  to  avoid  being  recognized.  Johns,  inwardly,  was  cursing 
his  bad  luck. 

Gwen's  strength  was  failing,  and  he  was  beginning  to  bitterly 
regret  that  he  had  not  procured  a  carriage,  when  suddenly  he 
perceived  an  empty  fly  going  in  the  same  direction  as  them- 
selves. 

In  a  moment  Johns  had  hailed  it,  promised  the  man  a  louis 
if  he  arrived  in  time  for  the  express,  and  was  being  driven  with 
his  companion  furiously  along  the  dusty  road. 

The  man  lashed  his  horse  to  so  much  purpose,  that  they 
reached  the  station  five  minutes  before  the  hour  of  departure. 

Quickly  Johns  caused  his  luggage  to  be  reclaimed,  while 
Gwen,  who  had  drawn  down  her  veil,  waited  for  him  on  the 
platform.  Johns  took  the  tickets,  and,  with  Gwen  leaning  on 
his  arm,  soon  forced  his  way  through  the  throng  in  the 
station  to  the  coupe  which  a  porter  had  retained.  They  entered 
quickly,  took  their  seats,  and,  after  drawing  down  the  blinds, 
waited  in  suspense,  with  their  hands  joined,  for  the  train  to 
start. 

Soon  they  heard  the  signal  given,  and  in  another  instant 
they  were  conscious,  to  their  intense  delight,  that  the  train  was 
moving  off. 

Johns,  drawing  the  young  girl  to  him,  said  exultingly— 

"  jV^tw,  my  little  Gwen,  we're  safe !" 

**  Oh,"  she  murmured,  "  how  I  love  to  trust  you  !" 

In  a  few  more  minutes,  as  the  express  sped  on,  they  were 
chatting  gaily,  just  as  though  the  journey  they  were  making  was 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  things. 

Johns  preserved  a  tenderly  protecting  attitude,  resolved  as 
he  was  to  respect  Gwen's  scruples  as  long  as  she  herself  should 
seem  to  wish  it.  She  scarcely  appeared  to  realize  the  step  which 
she  had  taken,  and  he,  on  his  part,  refrained  as  much  as  possible 
from  speaking  of  her  father  or  their  flight. 

And  thus,  after  a  few  hours  had  elapsed,  tired  after  the  day's 
experience,  she  went  to  sleep,  resting  in  his  arms. 

Then  Johns  reflected.  As  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  was 
rocked  by  the  swaying  train,  the  whole  of  his  past  history,  from 
the  day  he  had  landed  at  Tilbury  to  the  death  of  his  wife  at 


OF  JOHN  JOHNS  30X 

Cannes,  appeared  to  him  distinctly.  The  women  he  had 
known — Ellen,  Lucy,  Edith,  Rose — his  many  conquests  in 
society ;  the  syrens  who  had  now  and  then  diverted  him ;  even 
the  little  friendless  girl  of  Grafton  Street,  with  her  pale  and 
weary  face ;  he  saw  them  all  in  his  imagination  as  though  they 
had  been  portraits  in  a  gallery.  Truly  he  felt  he  owed  them 
gratitude,  for  each  in  her  especial  way  had  been  the  means  of 
advancing  his  career;  each  had  borne  her  share  in  the  work  of  his 
apotheosis,  which  this  little  girl,  whose  head  was  leaning  on  his 
shoulder,  was  to  complete.  Ah,  yes  !  it  was  through  women  that 
men  climbed  fastest.  Their  love  was  the  lever  which  no  barriers 
withstood.  Through  them,  nothing  was  unattainable.  Had  he 
not  learned  that  poor  Society,  with  its  rules,  its  prudery,  its  pride, 
capitulated  to  the  man  its  women  loved  ?  Had  he  not  seen 
that  the  virtue  of  the  highest  was  not  more  difficult  to  overcome 
than  the  famous  pride  of  caste  which  had  been  unable  to  with- 
stand the  prestige  of  the  son  of  David  Johns  ?  Women  were 
the  providence  of  life.  How  fortunate  it  was  that  there  should 
be  a  sex  so  bountiful ! 

As  he  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  he  cast  a  glance  at  Gwen, 
who  was  sleeping  calmly,  the  light  of  the  roof  lamp  falling 
on  her  maidenly  and  almost  pretty  face.  He  muttered  to 
himself,  "  Yes,  yes,  she'll  do.     She  must  /" 

Then,  to  drive  away  all  other  thoughts,  he  disposed  him- 
self to  sleep.     In  a  few  minutes  he  was  soundly  slumbering. 

When  he  awoke,  the  light  was  streaming  through  the  front 
windows  of  the  coup'e.  He  drew  aside  the  blinds  and  saw 
that  the  train  was  traversing  a  rich  green  country,  bright  and 
joyous  'with  spring  tints.  How  well  he  recollected  his 
awakening  five  months  previously  in  the  old  brown  land  of 
Provence,  which,  compared  with  this,  was  as  a  matron  to  a 
budding  girl !  Well,  he  had  left  the  old  existence  there. 
The  new  life  was  before  him  now.  He  had  exchanged  the 
old  wife  for  the  young ! 

He  had  reached  this  stage  of  his  reflections,  when  the  voice 
of  Gwen  caused  him  suddenly  to  start.     She  was  asking — 

"Oh,  John,  where  are  we?" 

And  he  remembered  that  these  same  words  had  been 
used  by  Rose  upon  the  journey  down. 

"Amid  the  beautiful  green  fields,  Gwen.  Soon  we  shall 
be  at  Lyons." 

She  sat  up  in  the  carriage,  adjusted  the  folds  of  her 
light  silk  dress,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her  dark  brown 
hair.  It  was  all  dishevelled,  and  a  lock  was  hanging  down. 
She  asked — 


3oa  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  JOHN  JOHNS 

"  How  shall  I  do  my  hair,  John  ?     I've  nothing  with  me !  * 

Johns,  rising,  reached  from  the  hand-rail  a  leather  dressing- 
case  which  he  had  brought  with  him.  Opening  it,  he  said, 
'"  You'll  find  all  you  want  in  there,  Gwen." 

She  looked  at  the  open  case  with  its  rows  of  silver  mountings, 
its  button  hooks,  its  scissors,  and  its  combs,  and  presently  she 
spied  a  hairpin. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  said,  "  surely  it's  your  wife's  ?  " 

He  kissed  her,  saying,  "  Gwen  !  it's  yours." 

They  breakfasted  at  Lyons. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  was  passed  pleasantly,  and  in 
the  evening,  to  avoid  detection  (for  Johns  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  by  French  law  Wilson  might  not  have  discretionary 
powers  over  Gwen),  they  alighted  at  a  suburban  station  before 
Paris,  to  which  they  had  caused  their  luggage  to  be  addressed. 

Thence  they  were  driven  to  an  hotel  behind  the  Etoile  Arch, 
which  Johns  had  once  heard  recommended  for  its  quietness. 

Their  first  act,  as  soon  as  they  had  secured  a  suite  of  rooms, 
was  to  telegraph  to  Wilson. 

"Your  daughter  is  in  my  hands  and  safe,"  Johns  wired. 
"  It's  useless  for  you  to  object  to  our  marriage  now.  Please  tell 
js  you  consent  through  the  medium  of  the  Times  advertise- 
ments.    We  intend  to  be  married  soon. — J.  J." 

Three  weeks  afterwards,  Wilson,  having  yielded  to  the  force 
of  circumstances,  as  Johns  had  judged  he  would,  they  were 
married  quietly  in  the  English  Church  at  Neuilly,  having  lived 
platonically,  to  Johns's  amusement,  the  whole  time.  Then, 
after  a  short  trip  in  Brittany,  Johns  took  his  wife  to  Grosvenor 
Place. 

Wilson  had  given  a  princely  dowry  to  his  daughter,  and 
the  Johns's  fortune  was  sufficient  to  sustain  ambitions  of  the 
greatest  magnitude. 

The  Stanfields,  however,  discontinued  Johns's  acquaintance, 
and  St.  George  wrote  him  a  letter  in  which  he  called  him  a 
mendacious  cad. 

Johns  laughed  over  the  letter  with  Ellen  the  first  time  they 
met ;  but  when  she  asked  him  if  he  was  really  happy  now,  hr 
answered  slowly — 

"  Happiness,  my  worthy  Ellen,  Is  unattainable  I " 


THE    END. 


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